


In Which Draco's Writing Retreat Does Not Work Out the Way He Expected

by Kymethra



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco is an author, Getting Together, HP: EWE, Harry runs a business, M/M, Mostly Fluff, Post-Hogwarts, Scotland, but only for purposes of plot, stuck together for a week with nobody else for company, there's a little bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 12:41:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9440867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kymethra/pseuds/Kymethra
Summary: “Tired of the chaos of daily life? Looking for a way to recharge your magic or refocus on work? Come visit us at Dragon Farm Guesthouse where all your needs will be taken care of in a beautiful, unplottable location, giving you the chance to enjoy a quiet holiday, or get that important work done, without distractions from the wider world. For bookings, send an owl to Dragon Farm Guesthouse c/o Hogsmeade Post Office, Hogsmeade.”When Harry opens a Bed & Breakfast on an isolated farm in Scotland, he gets more than he bargained for when his first guest turns out to be a certain blond-haired former Slytherin.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is the longest thing I've ever written but after reading Harry/Draco for 15 years, I've finally committed a serious fic. It started out being an idea for a short fic but when I started writing it ended up being 30,000 words long, written in fits and spurts secretly at work over a couple of months. I did not have a plan beyond the working title of "Harry opens a B&B and Draco comes to stay" so if there's any plot here, it's purely accidental. It has been beta'd but not heavily edited. Hopefully it's not a complete disaster!
> 
> Shout out to Phoebe for keeping me going over email while I wrote, Lizz for being my first reader, Michele for the beta and my M.A. gang for generally being the most awesome company on the interwebs.

On a cloudy, but dry, October day, the farmhouse sat alone, isolated at the end of a long, winding road that meandered through the spectacular scenery of the Scottish highlands. The stone walls were painted white, the door a faded green. Out the back was a small vegetable garden, and there were some rundown farm buildings a short distance away, with rusty pieces of machinery stacked against walls.

Its resident had bought it from an elderly muggle couple, who had lived there for almost 50 years. Upon taking receipt of the old, iron key to the front door, and wishing the couple well as they followed the moving van down the road in their car, the first thing the new owner had done was to begin the process to make the farm Unplottable. Being located relatively close to Hogsmeade, the location had been the first thing that had made Dragon Farm appeal to Harry Potter. The name had been the second. He bought himself a second-hand Land Rover from a local muggle dealer and managed to pass his driving test on the second try (and strongly denied any suggestion that a  _ Confundus _ charm may have been involved in this achievement, no matter what Hermione said).

The muggles who knew about the farm never noticed that it faded from their memory. They remembered the old couple that had occasionally driven down to the village to buy supplies from the shop, but they’d never knowingly met the new owner, and, as nobody came asking for directions, they never discovered that they’d forgotten how to get to the farm on the hill. The local postman remembered that he used to drive up to a farm somewhere nearby, but as hard as he tried, he couldn’t quite remember where that farm was.

The building itself needed a lot of sprucing up, and it was currently devoid of furniture, but as Harry wandered through the empty rooms, he could see in his mind’s eye exactly what could be. He wanted to create a space where witches and wizards like him, who needed to get away from things, could come and escape for a little while, whether on holiday, or to work in peace and quiet. He wasn’t sure whether other guesthouses like this even existed in the wizarding world, but even if they did, his wouldn’t be for people looking for somewhere to spend a single night while passing through – not that anyone would simply pass through this remote area – but a haven away from the hustle and bustle of life in and around Diagon Alley, Hogwarts and the Ministry.

The kitchen was a fantastic size and the heart of the building. An original Aga against one wall just cried out for bubbling pots and pans, with a stable door leading out into the garden, and plenty of surface space for working on. It was the sort of space that should be filled with the smell of spices and bread baking (though probably not at the same time), and there was a lovely room adjacent that would serve as the breakfast room, where Harry would serve his guests. It was only big enough for two tables, but as Harry’s plan didn’t involve him having more than one or two guests at a time, the small size wouldn’t prove an issue. The rest of the ground floor was taken up with a large living room with a rather grand fireplace. Harry wanted to put up bookshelves around the walls, cover the stone floor in warm rugs and find the comfiest chairs and sofas he could, making a cosy refuge in which to spend the evenings, protected from the sometimes harsh environment outside. He expected that during the day his guests would either be working or exploring the local area, while he got on with cleaning, cooking and taking care of his garden, giving him plenty of time to himself. One thing Harry had no intention of having was a house elf. Not only would Hermione be outraged had he even suggested the idea, surprisingly – given his upbringing – he found that he actually enjoyed the process of looking after his home himself, and it wasn’t like he had anything else to do with his time.

Upstairs in the farmhouse were four bedrooms, one of which would be Harry’s own (the biggest, with a small shower room  _ en suite _ : he wasn’t about to sacrifice his long-term comfort and privacy when his guests would never know any better), and a bathroom, with a shower cubicle and separate free-standing bath, one of Harry’s favourite things in his new home, though he planned never to indulge in the sort of long, relaxing baths he loved when he had guests.   

His first visitors weren’t paying guests at all. Ron and Hermione sent an owl soon after Harry let them know how to reach him, saying that they’d be arriving in Hogsmeade the next day and couldn’t wait to see Harry’s new home. Even before he moved in, his first week of ownership had passed in a blur of placing owl-orders with furniture companies and supervising the delivery and arrangement of everything from sofas to spoons, and making what seemed like endless cups of tea for everyone coming in and out of the house. Finally, everything was finished, and the movers apparated away, just before the Unplottable order came into force.  Exhausted from the hard work, Harry fell into his bed at the end of the day and got his first quiet night’s sleep in months, safe from the risk of being found by anyone who might come looking.

***

“Harry!”

At the sound of his name, Harry looked up from where he was leaning against his jeep reading the latest rumours about Draco Malfoy, to the welcome sight of his best friends walking towards where he was parked, just outside the wards of Hogsmeade village. Ron, in dark jeans and a hand-knitted jumper made from a rather sickly green wool waved eagerly, his other hand held securely by Hermione, in a brown skirt, knee-high boots and jacket, with her brown hair neatly clipped back, though a few escaping tendrils added a softness that was otherwise lacking in her appearance. Harry quickly folded away the paper, making sure to conceal the photograph of Malfoy hurriedly walking down the street, long legs enclosed in smart black trousers, that he hadn’t been staring at, not at all.

“Nice car, mate,” Ron commented, gesturing to the Land Rover as he got closer to where Harry was parked. “Does it fly?”

“No,” Harry laughed, happy to once again be in the company of his friends, even after a short absence. “It’s just a regular car. Roads only, I’m afraid.”

Hermione gave her husband a pointed look. “And good thing too, as far as I’m concerned. I’d have thought you’d have had enough of that sort of thing at Hogwarts.” Letting go of Ron’s hand and coming forwards she put her arms round Harry’s neck for a hug, which he gladly returned, and pecked him on the cheek before stepping back. “You’re already looking better, Harry. Scotland agrees with you.”

Still grinning at the memory of his and Harry’s chase after the Hogwarts Express in his dad’s flying car, Ron shook Harry’s hand. “You do look like you’ve finally had some sleep, though I wish you didn’t need to be so far from civilisation to manage it. I can’t believe you’ve moved all the way up here on your own; it’s so quiet.”

“That’s generally the idea, Ron. You know I’d never have been left alone otherwise,” Harry replied. 

He had tried living in 12 Grimmauld Place, and while he wanted desperately to make the house Sirius had left him his home, had only managed a couple of years before deciding he needed a new start. Harry had hoped that interest in him as the Boy Who Lived would die down once everyone began to move on from the events of the war, that hadn’t happened. He had started Auror training, but reporters had dogged his every move, with photographers battling to get photos of him every time he went out on a mission, putting themselves and spectators in danger. Eventually the Auror department had regretfully agreed with him that an Auror who couldn’t go out without attracting attention would be of little use apprehending criminals when discretion was needed. He couldn’t even go down Diagon Alley without crowds gathering and clamoring for his autograph. Gradually the attention started to take a toll and Harry had begun to avoid going out in public, almost trapped in his own home. 

“I really like it up here, you know. There’s so much space. I can go flying, when the weather’s nice. And I don’t have to worry about someone taking my photo every time I step outside.” Harry gestured upwards towards the blue sky. “I see you brought the sun with you. It’s been cloudy for the past few days.”

Hermione smiled. “I always loved being up here for school. The air is so fresh, and you couldn’t ask for better scenery. I think I understand why you like it so much.”

Walking around the car, tapping the bonnet as he passed, Ron opened the passenger-side door and peered inside the Land Rover curiously. “I for one can’t wait to see your new farm. Harry Potter the farmer! I hope you’re asking Neville for some hints and tips. So you want us to just get in and put our lives in your hands? Are you sure about this, Hermione? It doesn’t look like the safest machine ever.”

“Yes, Ron, I’m sure Harry is an excellent driver.” Hermione didn’t look completely convinced but only those that knew her well would have detected the slight trepidation in her voice.

“Something like that anyway.” Harry got behind the wheel of the car, while Ron helped Hermione into the back seat, before sitting in the seat next to Harry. “Hold on to something, it can get a bit shaky on these small roads.”

***

That evening, with a fire happily burning away under the wood mantelpiece, Harry relaxed in his new favourite chair with a bottle of butterbeer, while Ron and Hermione, drinking butterbeer and a glass of wine respectively, shared the sofa, Hermione’s feet resting on Ron’s lap. The light from the flames danced around the room, with the only other illumination coming from a number of candles on various surfaces. He realised that for the first time in a long time, he had the makings of a home that would see him perfectly content with his situation and closed his eyes for a moment to make sure that he truly remembered the moment. Earlier he had cooked a simple but tasty meal for his friends, ably assisted by Hermione chopping vegetables, and not so ably assisted by Ron, who had had to be relieved of the responsibility of grating cheese after a close shave with his fingers.

After dinner, while Harry cleared up, Hermione had firmly directed Ron towards the living room, keeping him out of the way, and where she had taken great pleasure in reorganising Harry’s library.

“Harry,” Hermione had called out, as books floated around her, making their way to their proper position on the shelves. “Where on earth did you get all these books from? You’ve all sorts here, and don’t you dare claim to have read them all. Last time I saw your bookshelves, all you owned were your Hogwarts schoolbooks and all those unopened books people keep sending you for reviews. These are all brand new.”

Bringing drinks into the living room, then casually casting  _ Incendio _ at the fire before he sat down, Harry shrugged. “I wrote to Flourish & Blotts and asked them if they knew of anyone who might have some spare books. That I was needing to start a library for guests. Next things I knew, boxes of the things were appearing.”

“Honestly, mate, you could ask anyone for anything and they’d bend over backwards to give you what you wanted.” Ron shook his head, but grinned at his friend’s continuing fortune. “It’s too bad you’re too much of a good guy to take advantage. Just imagine…”

His wife gave him an unimpressed look as she sat down next to him. “Ronald Weasley, you know Harry would never…”

“...I know, ‘Mione. Doesn’t mean a man can’t dream,” Ron cut in before Hermione could progress too far with her scolding.

“There is something the both of you can help me with actually.” Harry changed the subject quickly, and stood up and walked over to the desk facing the window, picking up the top sheet of parchment from the pile, which was covered with slightly messy handwriting and ink blotches. “I’ve written an advert for the guesthouse. To go in the  _ Daily Prophet _ . Have a read and tell me what you think?”

Hermione took the parchment from Harry as he passed it to her and read it out.

“Tired of the chaos of daily life? Looking for a way to recharge your magic or refocus on work? Come visit us at Dragon Farm Guesthouse where all your needs will be taken care of in a beautiful, unplottable location, giving you the chance to enjoy a quiet holiday, or get that important work done, without distractions from the wider world. For bookings, send an owl to Dragon Farm Guesthouse c/o Hogsmeade Post Office, Hogsmeade.”

“What do you think?” Harry asked nervously.

“I think it sounds great, Harry.” Hermione said with a smile. “But how are you going to stop word getting out that you’re the owner?”

“Oh, well, I plan on making confidentiality part of the conditions of coming to stay. I can sell it as part of the experience, and once people arrive and find out that I’m here, it’ll be too late. They’ll be bound by the terms of the contract.” Leaning forwards, Harry took the advert back from Hermione. “Ron? Does it sound like a place you’d like to stay?”

“Absolutely. You’re going to be great at this, I can tell.” The genuine confidence in Ron’s voice made Harry warm inside. He looked over at his two friends, relaxed and so happy together and felt a pang of envy that he quickly dismissed. He was fine, there was plenty of time to settle down. Things hadn’t worked out with Ginny, but that was unsurprising. She had wanted to get out and explore the world that had opened up to them after school, pursuing a Quidditch career, while Harry had retreated further and further from that very same world. Eventually they had admitted to each other that they would always love each other, but they wanted different things. Ron and Hermione had never left Harry out of their friendship because of their marriage, but naturally things had changed, and they shared something he would never be a part of.

“Thanks. Right then, no time like the present. I’ll owl it to the  _ Prophet _ tomorrow, hopefully I’ll get some bookings soon.” Grinning at the prospect of his first paying guests, Harry folded the advert and put it in his pocket. Raising his bottle, he said, “Here’s to Dragon Farm Guesthouse.”

Picking up their drinks, Ron and Hermione echoed his words and the three friends each took a sip to celebrate, their laughter echoing into the night outside the house.

***

Cursing under his breath, Draco Malfoy grabbed the piece of paper held in the rollers of his typewriter and yanked it out. Grabbing another off the top of the pile to his left, he fed it into the muggle machine with more violence than necessary. After he was done, he sat back in his chair and closed his eyes, hovering his fingers of the keys as he breathed deeply. Just at the moment he was about to start typing, a voice interrupted him.

“Going well then, Dray?”

“Blaise, if you do not get out of my house within the next two minutes, I swear your mother won’t recognise your remains when I deliver them to her wrapped in a bow. I need to get on with this.”

“Oh come now, you’ve been trying to write this damn book for six months. If it’s not working, it’s not working. Why are you forcing yourself? You could just live on the royalties of  _ Caught in a Spider’s Web _ for life, on top of your inheritance.” Blaise ignored Draco’s threats and wandered over to shuffle through the finished pages on the right-hand-side of the desk. He leaned back on the edge of the desk in a deliberately casual manner, knowing it showed off his long legs to his advantage. Draco glanced at him impatiently out of the corner of his eyes.

“I don’t want to live on the royalties of  _ Spider’s Web _ . I only wrote the damn book so that people would stop spitting at me in the street. I’d actually like to write something worthy of my name.” He batted at Blaise’s hip. “And stop getting in my space. I am actually  _ trying _ to work, not that you would recognise such an activity.”

Chuckling at the half-hearted attempt to shoo him away, Blaise shuffled sideways out of reach.“ _ So _ bad-tempered, Draco! What would your mother say? Where are your manners? For that matter, where’s your house elf? Why haven’t I been showered in tea and cakes yet? Nipsy is usually more on top of things than this.”

“Oh, she’s probably off in a huff somewhere. I may have thrown a glove at her earlier when I got home and I think she thought I was trying to give it to her and took offence. I don’t know what she expected, that damned owl had perched on my coat rack and there were droppings everywhere.” Blaise snorted in a rather undignified manner at this. Draco was incredibly particular about his clothes and he knew the thought of his rather fine collection of coats being coated in owl-droppings was beyond the pale for his friend.

After shouting for Nipsy, Draco continued. “What are you doing here anyway? I know you didn’t just turn up in anticipation of interrupting my thought process. There’s no way you’d drag yourself out if it wasn’t worth your time.”

Before Blaise could inform Draco that he would never  _ drag _ himself anywhere, Nipsy appeared, a diminutive figure dressed in what looked like a child’s dress, with faded sunflowers on a blue background, her eyes widening when she saw Blaise in the room. “Yes, Master Draco? Oh! Master Blaise! Nipsy did not know you were here. Nipsy would never have left you waiting. Can Nipsy get you anything, Master Blaise? Nipsy can make fresh coffee, or tea, or bring biscuits or . . .” 

Her voice continued on while Draco turned to Blaise with a raised eyebrow.

“Honestly Blaise, I never get this kind of attention. How proud you must be to find yourself the focus of such adoration.”

“You wish you were as beloved as I, don’t deny it.” Turning back to the house elf, still listing the options she could provide for Blaise, he said, “Nipsy, a pot of Earl Grey and some biscuits will suffice. Whatever you have that’s fresh. I shan’t be staying for lunch. Thank you.”

The house elf was obviously delighted with the request. “Yes, Master Blaise. Nipsy will bring Master Blaise fresh shortbread she has made!”

Nipsy vanished with a click of her fingers and Draco admitted defeat as to his writing for now. Standing from his desk chair, he walked over to one of the pair of winged armchairs in the centre of the room and sat, lifting his feet onto the oak coffee table. Blaise followed and joined him in the matching chair, refraining from copying Draco’s casual pose. “So writers’ block is still in full force?”

“With a vengeance.” As Draco was speaking, Nipsy reappeared carrying a tray so big that looked like it should have been impossible for her to handle, with a teapot, two cups and saucers, and a selection of biscuits, Draco pulled a face at Blaise’s suggestion, before correcting himself (he did  _ not _ want to encourage wrinkles, after all).  “I just don’t seem to be able to clear my head and focus. Ever since  _ Spider’s Web  _ published, I’ve been inundated with requests for think-pieces, appearances, commentary . . . All I wanted was to tell people what happened, have them not think so terribly of me, I never wanted to be famous! Honestly, I’m beginning to miss the days when I could go out and all I faced was approbation. At least I was left alone, for the most part, but I can’t say ‘ _ No _ ’. People are asking for my opinion, as if it matters! Blaise! Do you know how different that feels? Ugh, of course you don’t. You don’t care because the only opinion you value is your own. But I need them to leave me alone now, so that I can write! And they won’t!”

“Poor Draco. Wanting what you didn’t have and now you’ve got it, you don’t want it. You could have just kept quiet. They would have eventually forgotten about you and left you alone, but instead you went and wrote a bestseller! And people want more from you! Don’t tell me you don’t enjoy it.” Blaise kept his tone light but he could see how frustrated Draco was. “And now you face the difficult second book.”

“And I know what I want to write but it’s just not happening.”

“What do you want to write?”

“I . . . I guess you could describe it as a manifesto. What I see needing to be done to truly put the war behind us. A way to heal the divisions. If we don’t integrate muggleborns and pure-bloods more, events will only repeat themselves. Maybe not to the same degree, but there’ll always be someone who wants to exploit our differences. I don’t want to change the world, but maybe if I can sow the seeds, it’ll help.”

Blaise stared at his friend. “Draco, that’s really . . . something. I never thought you would want to go into politics.”

Disgusted even at the suggestion, Draco huffed. “It’s not  _ politics _ , Blaise! Just, the way I see the world. And anyway, it’s not even that right now. Just thoughts in my head. I’ve not got a single world worth reading.” He could think of nothing worse than a career in politics, dealing with the Ministry and the lackeys that filled its corridors. He just wanted to put his ideas out into the world so that he wasn’t alone with them any more.

“Well, I might have something that can help.” Blaise looked around, spotting that day’s  _ Daily Prophet _ lying on the lower shelf of the coffee table. Leaning forwards, he picked it up and started rifling through the pages.

“Oh? What’s that? What on earth are you looking for?”

“This.” Folding back the page, then folding the paper itself in half, Blaise leant over and deposited the bottom corner of page thirteen on Draco’s knees. To emphasise exactly what he was referring to, he finished off with a firm point to the advert emblazoned at the top with a banner that read ‘Dragon Farm Guesthouse’.

***

Hogsmeade hadn’t changed much since the last time Draco visited. The main street (pretty much the only street, other than a few small lanes going off to either side) was still occupied by the same shops, an eclectic collection, forming a strange mix of buildings and signs, some clearly geared towards the large student populace nearby, the rest providing the services you might expect in a small village. Not knowing what sort of provisions there would be at the guesthouse, nor even who would be doing the providing, Draco thought he should perhaps stock up on a few essential items – like wine, and chocolate – before going to his pick up. He had about half an hour spare, so the time might as well be put to good use. All he knew is that he had been instructed to walk through the village and out in the direction away from Hogwarts, to the edge of the wards, where the owner of the guesthouse would meet him at the appointed time and transport him to Dragon Farm.

The temperature was much cooler up here than it had been in London and there was a firm wind blowing. Draco shivered a little, wishing he’d thought to wear a scarf, though he knew how well his knee-length black pea coat suited him, particularly contrasted against his pale, shoulder-length hair. Draco Malfoy was never knowingly under-dramatic and he wanted to make an impression on the owner of Dragon Farm, one that instantly conveyed his expectations of the best quality and standards. Behind him hovered a small trunk, filled with necessities, along with his typewriter and plenty of paper.

It had taken a great effort on Blaise’s part to persuade Draco that a few days away from the world would be exactly what he needed to ‘get the creative juices flowing’. He had held firm in the face of Draco’s vehement protests, not least at the glee that Blaise took in sending his best friend to a farm bearing the name ‘Dragon’.  _ The name is too perfect to be ignored, Dray. It was obviously meant to be.  _ Draco could still hear Blaise’s voice in his head as he walked through the village. He hated to admit that Blaise’s idea was a good one, but it was never a good strategy to boost his already substantial ego. However, spending time in a new location, one where he could focus on his writing, actually sounded wonderful. Blaise would have taken offence had Draco given in too easily though, that simply wasn’t how their friendship worked, and the least Draco could do was to put up a show of protest.

He hadn’t held out too long before giving in gracefully and sending off an owl to the Hogsmeade Post Office, as instructed, requesting a five day booking at the first available opportunity. He’d been pleased to receive a response telling him that the guesthouse was available the very next week, if that suited, and less pleased to be sent a substantial confidentiality agreement upon confirmation of his booking. It seemed that the owners of Dragon Farm valued their privacy even more than he did and, while their guests were free to disclose that they had been to stay and to give their opinion about their time there, were they to discuss who ran the farm, they would become the victim of a nasty series of hexes. As a prospect, it was actually quite intimidating, and not a little impressive.

Casting protective charms on his trunk and leaving it at the Post Office, Draco headed towards the Three Broomsticks to see if he could purchase some bottles of decent wine from their cellar, or if not decent, at least tolerable. As he went to open the door, Draco jumped as someone else pulled it inwards just as his hand reached the wood to push, and a man came striding out, looking at his feet, seemingly oblivious. It wasn’t until he’d practically crashed into Draco that the other man looked up. Draco managed to subdue his instinctive reaction to scowl as piercing green eyes met his own, rapidly cycling from being apologetic about the near-collision, to surprise at who they were looking at.

“Malfoy! Sorry, sorry, I wasn’t looking. Didn’t mean to bump into you.”

“Potter.”

Draco couldn’t think of anything else to say, and apparently neither could Potter, leaving them both stood on the street facing each other for an increasingly awkward length of time. Finally, Harry was the first to come back to himself.

“Well, I should be, getting on, y’know. Places to be. People to, um, meet.” Harry made a half-hearted wave, vaguely indicating he had somewhere to go, though seemed unable to fully describe what his intentions were.

“Right. Of course. I was just going in…” Draco gestured around Harry, towards the inside of the Three Broomsticks as his destination.

“Oh, sure. I’ll just get out of your way then.” Harry stepped to the left, just as Draco stepped to the right and for a few awful seconds it was as if they were engaged in the most awkward, shuffling dance that had ever occurred, before Draco exclaimed “Potter! Stop!”, throwing his hands in the air, stopping moving himself, then grabbing Harry’s upper arms and forcibly turning them both 180 degrees.

“Um.” Harry’s mouth had fallen open slightly and his eyes were wide. Draco noticed he was still holding on to Harry’s upper arms, and made himself open his hands and drop both arms back by his sides.

“Good day, Potter.” Realising he needed to be the one to make an exit if he were to escape with any dignity left, Draco nodded his head, turned on his heel and finally reached the safe, dark interior of the pub. Making his way to the bar he couldn’t resist glancing through the window, where he could see a Potter-shaped figure, distorted by the glazing, walking down the road leading out of the village.

Harry Potter was the last person he had expected to bump into in the middle of Hogsmeade on a Monday in October, and so he was unprepared to conduct small talk with him. He and Harry – and he was Harry in Draco’s mind, even if out loud he was still ‘Potter’ – had seen each other occasionally at formal functions since the war, and Draco had watched, dismayed, from a distance as Harry was hounded by the press, eventually almost disappearing from public life, even as Draco’s life had become subject to greater scrutiny by the very same. In person, their interactions were always difficult for Draco; the highly-developed conversational skills he prided himself on seemingly abandoning him, leaving him stilted and uncomfortable. He didn’t like to think too much about it, but for some reason Harry made him nervous. He had resolved early on to try and stop antagonising Harry so much when he saw him, instead attempting to be at least civil, even though Harry didn’t seem particularly keen on cultivating a friendship. While Draco’s social skills deserted him upon being faced with Harry, from what Draco knew of him, the former Gryffindor had never possessed them in the first place.

Consequently, Harry still succeeded in constantly irritating Draco, even when Draco was trying to be make an effort. His appearance was regularly an offence to the senses. And whereas at one time, when they were still on opposing sides, Draco could fall back simply resort to insulting his appearance and walk away, that sort of bickering seemed immature now they were, theoretically, adults. Worse still, he had found himself on more than one occasion wanting actually to  _ fix  _ the sartorial offences he was faced with. Faced with Harry’s mop of black hair and still-shapeless clothing (honestly, why had  _ nobody _ taken the man in hand and shown him the benefits of tailoring?) his fingers itched to reach out and flatten down the perpetually ruffled hair; to straighten the wonky glasses that never sat correctly; to dust down his trousers. These impulses threw him entirely off his social game. And so, rather than the witty comments and sparkling conversation that characterised Draco’s normal social life, he found himself spewing the most mundane of remarks, and – worst of all – leaving gaps where he could think of nothing to say at all.

The result was often a conversational disaster area, filled with long pauses and stumbling, inarticulate utterances.  Refusing to admit any other motivation, he blamed this entirely on a long-denied wish to be Harry’s friend rearing its head once again, combined with years of habit of needling at perceived weaknesses whenever possible, nothing else. Obviously the same enmity no longer existed between them and so Draco was succumbing to the dangers of wanting to improve the other man. Many of his friends over the years had benefitted from his superior taste and style, Harry was just the latest person he wanted to help. That was all.

Realising he was lingering in the doorway mulling over what had, after all, been only a momentary, uncomfortable encounter that had no bearing on why he was actually here, Draco straightened his shoulders and put thoughts of Harry aside as he flashed a smile at the landlady and prepared to negotiate her out of her finest vintage.

***

Meanwhile, Harry hurried away from the Three Broomsticks feeling unsettled. Malfoy’s reaction to seeing him just now did not bode well for the coming days. He hadn’t expected to run into Malfoy before meeting him with the car, thinking he had plenty of time to pop into the village to run a few errands before his guest arrived. Now he headed straight back to the Land Rover, worried that Draco’s entire stay would just be full of them being awkward with each other, both wanting to avoid arguing like they had as children, but not knowing how else to interact. Harry felt like he could still sense where Malfoy had grasped him by the arms, so shocked had he been at the contact. It was ridiculous to think he could feel the heat of his palms through his coat, but as soon as the blond had taken hold, Harry’s senses had gone on high alert, the hairs on his arms standing on end.

What  _ was _ that? Admittedly, he wasn’t used to being touched by anyone except Ron, Hermione (and Molly Weasley, who never saw Harry without enveloping him in a massive hug as a greeting) and perhaps it could be explained away merely as a reaction to the unusual sensation of someone else putting his hands on him. But a small part of Harry suspected this wasn’t true, that it was actually a reaction to Draco. For a long time now, Harry had what might kindly be described as a  _ crush _ on his school rival. Oh, it hadn’t appeared until well after the Battle of Hogwarts, but Harry could vividly remember the first time he’d seen Draco at a Ministry garden party, during the days when he was still involved with Ginny and training as an Auror. He noticed how the blond suddenly seemed to have grown up, losing the last remnants of boyishness, standing taller, confident in his own skin. His hair was not so long as to evoke echoes of his father, but long enough to need pushing back from his face, brushing the top of his shirt collar. Harry could remember how his attention had repeatedly been drawn back to Draco’s forearms throughout the afternoon, where his shirt sleeves had been rolled up to his elbows due to the warm sun, and lean muscles could be seen, leading down to finely-boned hands, so pale they had clearly not seen the sun for any length of time.

Glancing at his watch as he reached the Land Rover, he saw he had twenty minutes until he was due to meet Draco and decided to stay in the safety of his car and shore up his defences for the sarcasm and smirks that were bound to be directed his way over the next week. Casting a variation on the  _ Tempus _ charm that would alert him with five minutes to go, Harry leaned back in the car seat and, not for the first time, wondered if agreeing to Malfoy’s booking was the right decision. He almost hadn’t believed it when he’d seen the distinctive, scrolled  _ M _ in (what else?) green wax on the letter that was the first reply to his advertisement in the  _ Prophet _ . Why would Draco Malfoy want to leave behind his fabulous lifestyle for five days? The  _ Daily Prophet  _  and  _ Witch Weekly _ had been singing his praises ever since his book was published, talking about redemption and speculating on his private life. Actually, thinking about it, Harry was all too familiar with trying to live with that sort of attention, and so maybe Draco’s reasons for booking some time away weren’t so hard to understand.

Harry just hoped that Draco wouldn’t turn around and walk away as soon as he discovered that he would be spending his break with  _ Harry _ . It was going to be rather a trial-by-fire for Harry’s hosting skills, but he was determined to be professional about this. They were both adults and should be capable of putting aside whatever feelings they might have – whether good or bad – and instead treat each other as nothing more than guesthouse-owner and guest. Harry resolved to keep out of Draco’s way for the most part, only checking in with him about what time he would like his breakfast each day, and whether he wanted an evening meal. He shouldn’t need to bother Draco much more than that, and had his own areas of the farmhouse that he could keep to. He’d also fitted out one of the outer buildings as a workroom-cum-den that he could use when he wanted to get away, storing his Firebolt, Quidditch gear and various items he’d been sent from Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes over the years that were too garish, and, quite frankly, dangerous, to keep in the main building.

Suddenly, Harry’s wand was buzzing in his pocket. His time was up and Draco would be arriving in five minutes. Taking a deep breath, Harry got out the car, and double checked that the boot had space for whatever luggage Draco had, before standing near the front of the vehicle, hands in pockets and looking anxiously down the road from Hogsmeade.

***

After acquiring more than enough wine for the next week, Draco stopped to purchase some treats (Pansy said he had the sweetest tooth she’d ever known, it was just a shame it didn’t extend to other parts of his personality) before calling in at the Post Office to claim his luggage. Once his trunk was safely floating along behind him again – and thank goodness for luggage spells, Draco couldn’t imagine anything worse than having to physically drag his own trunk along – he turned his back on the path to Hogwarts and began walking out of the village. It wasn’t a route he’d ever explored as a boy and now he was surprised by how rapidly the buildings fell away. The cobbled road gave over to a stony track that went straight out of the village before turning left. Draco’s instructions told him he’d be met just after this bend, by the owner of the guesthouse.

Cursing Blaise as the stones underneath his feet bit through the soles of his Italian leather shoes, Draco stepped over to walk instead on the grassy verge on the side. At least it was dry, so mud wasn’t a problem. Feeling the wards shimmer as he passed through them, he turned the corner, seeing the man standing beside what looked like a rather ugly muggle contraption on wheels, causing all thoughts of his shoes to flee.

“Is this a joke?” Continuing to walk forwards, the words exploded from Draco before he could stop them, his voice higher pitched than he liked, his arms waving widely as he gestured to compass Potter and his metal box. “Have you and Blaise decided to play some horrible prank on me or something? Where is he? Hiding in the hedge, I presume? Come out, Blaise! Joke’s over!”

Draco spun around to the left and right, looking at the hedges and trees on either side of the track, before finally turning a complete circle and coming to rest facing Harry once again. Raising one exquisite eyebrow, he fixed his gaze on Harry, who looked increasingly uncomfortable under the scrutiny of his former rival.

Gesturing in the direction of Harry and his vehicle, Draco asked the obvious question. “Potter. Would you please explain to me what the hell is going on?”

Harry opened his mouth as if to begin speaking, closed it, swallowed and began again. Draco found himself watching the Adam’s apple in Harry’s throat go up and down before finally he began to speak in a conciliatory, resigned tone.

“There’s nothing going on Malfoy, not like that. I bought a farm, turned it into a guesthouse, placed an advert in the  _ Prophet _ , you replied . . . and here you are, for a relaxing stay at Dragon Farm Guesthouse.” Harry opened his arms, but seemed to realise that the farm wasn’t actually there and so half-shrugged his shoulders. “It’s only a short drive away, if you’ll let me put your trunk in the boot, we can get going and talk on the way?” Harry’s final words went up suddenly in tone, as if he wasn’t quite sure of his suggestion and decided to make it a question instead.

Harry seemed to take Draco’s silence for acquiescence. Gesturing with his wand, he took over control of Draco’s trunk and hovered it towards the back of the car. There Draco saw him appear to press something down, and a lid popped open. Harry manoeuvered the trunk so that it disappeared into the space, before pulling down the lid, which shut with a click. It all happened so smoothly that Draco didn’t even notice that he hadn’t put up even a token protest. Next thing he knew, Harry was walking towards him, his left hand reaching out as if he intended to do the same to Draco has he had done to the luggage.

Coming to his senses, Draco leapt backwards a step and held his hands out defensively. “Don’t you dare touch me. This coat is made from the finest wool and I don’t want it dirtied up. Not that you would recognise good clothes when you saw them.” Draco looked disapprovingly at Harry’s jumper to makehis point.

“You didn’t seem to mind earlier,” Harry replied… and was that a smirk? How dare he smirk at Draco! Nothing drove Draco more insane than people laughing at him. He stiffened his posture and gave Potter his best superior look.

“You’re imagining things, Potter. I don’t know what scam you’re pulling here, but I’ve paid a deposit so I expect everything to be perfect. Most of all, I expect peace and quiet, that’s why I’m here. If you can’t provide that service, I’ll take my luggage and go home right now.” Draco deliberately emphasised the word  _ service _ , drawing on all his Malfoy upbringing to make it understood that he considered Harry to be working for him. “Now, how are we getting to this farm of yours? And I hope that it’s not an actual farm, Potter, I do not wish to be surrounded by animals! I had enough of that in Care of Magical Creatures at school.”

“I’m driving, why do you think I put your luggage in the boot, Malfoy? Here,” Harry turned and opened a door in the side of the vehicle. Draco peered inside to take a closer look and then stepped back.

“In there! You expect me to get in there!”

“Yes! Stop whining and get in. It’s perfectly safe and I promise it’s clean.” Harry stepped back, clearing the way to the seat, which Draco thought looked terrible scruffy and not a little dirty.

“If I find dirt on my coat…”

“Merlin, are you like this with everyone? I thought it was bad enough at school, and we’re not even fighting any more. I just told you it’s clean. Your coat will be fine. Will you please get in? It’s cold and I’d like to get home before dark if possible.” Harry sounded exasperated, which Draco had to admit he rather enjoyed. If Potter was going to be this easy to wind up, it seemed his stay would at least be entertaining. Deciding he’d prefer to continue his efforts to provoke Harry in a warm building, with amenities to hand, he grasped the roof of the car and stepped on the side to swing up into the seat, pleased to find that it was at least cushioned somewhat.

As Draco was inspecting the interior he found himself in, curious at the variety of buttons and knobs that he could see, all of a sudden there was a loud bang next to his left ear, causing him to jump and he turned only to find his way out blocked. Harry had slammed the door closed behind him and was currently walking round the front. Letting out a small sigh, Draco followed his progress as Harry opened a similar door on the other side, and climbed in. The only difference was that his seat what appeared to be a wheel, which Harry now took hold of.

“Here, you need to put your seatbelt on.”

“My what?” Draco jumped as Harry suddenly leant in close to him and every hair on his body stood up as the other man reached around Draco’s front. He found himself unwittingly closing his eyes and breathing in, and enjoying the sudden heat, before the heat was just as suddenly removed. He heard a whirring and a click as a strange pressure made itself known across his front and he opened his eyes.

“There. Now you’re safe.”

Draco looked down to see a black belt across his waist, and the same diagonally across his body.

“What on earth?” Draco asked as he turned confused to Harry, only to see him sporting the same cross-body strap and clicking some sort of lock on his left-hand side. Harry flashed a boyish grin as he reached forward underneath the wheel in front of him and did something that caused a quiet rumbling noise and the whole contraption to start vibrating.

“Potter. Potter, wait. I’m not sure this is a good idea.” 

“Oh, you’ll be fine, just hold on,” Harry spoke, not looking at Draco, and he reached down to his left to click a button at the end of a long handle, which dropped down, then moved another vertical handle sideways. Draco let out an undignified noise that he would never admit to as the car suddenly accelerated and he was thrown against the back of his seat.

“Potter!”

***

Harry had to admit that he may have taken the drive a little faster than normal given the effect it had on his passenger.  The Land Rover was not sympathetic when it came to feeling the bumps of the road. Harry knew what to expect but Draco had lost quite a lot of composure after a few minutes of rattling around the small, country roads that led away from Hogsmeade. Once they reached the smoother main road that took them through to the village near Dragon Farm, Harry had risked a glance over at his passenger only to see him holding tightly to the handle in the door and glaring at Harry as if his eyes alone were capable of shooting an offensive spell. Harry had quickly refocused on the road so as not to laugh at his old rival’s face.

“Not long now,” he couldn’t help saying, in his cheeriest voice. He wasn’t sure, but he thought heard Draco  _ growl _ in response. Harry loved driving these roads, the scenery was fantastic, with the highlands all around, disappearing upwards. It was particularly spectacular when the weather wasn’t quite perfect, with fog rolling in off the peaks, adding drama and mystery.

As they came round a bend in the road, Harry could see the village up ahead, and slowed down just before they entered. “Here we are.” He swung the car to the left, past a simple arrow sign at the corner pointing the way to Dragon Farm, making a note mentally to pop out and take it down the next day. No need to risk a muggle encountering it if the wards frayed, and coming to investigate.

After five minutes’ drive, mildly uphill all the way, the farmhouse and buildings appeared. Harry pulled up outside the front door and turned off the engine. Almost immediately, Draco said, “Potter, let me out.”

“Sure, just a moment, I’ll come round and…” Harry didn’t even get to finish his sentence before Draco yelled.

“Let me out now!”

Alarmed, Harry undid his seatbelt, before doing the same for Draco and, deciding it was better sooner than not, leaning across him to open the passenger door from inside. Draco didn’t even bother waiting for Harry to move back before he pushed him aside and jumped out onto the stone ground that formed the yard. Harry rushed to follow, coming around, beginning to feel a little worried that something was really wrong. He was about to ask if Draco was ok, when the other man grabbed the front of Harry’s jumper and shoved him against the side of the car.

“Never again, Potter! I am never letting you do that to me again!”

Harry was pulled forward briefly before being shoved back again. Draco pushed forward, his face getting up close to Harry’s and he snarled, “You could have killed me!”

Harry resisted the urge to squirm but brought his hands up and squeezed them into the rapidly diminishing gap between his and Draco’s bodies, putting his palms flat against Draco’s front to hold him back a little. Draco’s hair was slightly out of place, but other than that he looked no different physically to when they had go into the car in the first place, which was to say, he looked pretty great. “Merlin, it was just a short drive! You’re overreacting.” But Draco wasn’t clearly wasn’t listening, ranting at Harry as if they’d survived a dragon attack that had been Harry’s fault.

“I should hex you into next week for that! I’m supposed to be here to relax and the first thing you do is endanger my life! Stupid, reckless Gryffindor! Exactly what qualifies you to be in charge of such a dangerous machine! I should have…”

Finally getting tired of the accusations, when Draco was clearly fine, if a little ruffled, Harry put some effort behind his palms and pushed Draco back, feeling a little bereft as his weight shifted away from him but that was understandable right? He didn’t get a lot of human contact these days, so was unused to being up close and personal with anybody.

“Look, I’m sorry you didn’t enjoy the journey. Personally, I find it quite fun, reminds me of flying a little. But you’re here now. Let me take your trunk up to your room and show you round, then I’ll prepare some dinner for you, since you’ve chose full bed and board, and you can settle in. I’ll leave you in peace.” Harry got out his wand and levitated Draco’s trunk out of the boot of the car and ahead of him towards the front door.

Draco, having stopped his rant once Harry began speaking, followed behind. “Fine, but you should know that any more nonsense like that and I’ll be leaving early, and I won’t be paying you!”

Harry laughed at the rather childish threat as he led the way into the farmhouse itself. “Fine, have it your way.” He sent the trunk up the stairs with a flick of his wand and turned to face his guest, now stood in the hallway, hands in pockets, looking every bit the scion of a pureblood house that he was.

“Okay. So, welcome to Dragon Farm!” Harry had planned a whole welcome speech for his first guest, outlining the services and facilities he offered, but it seemed rather unsuitable now that his first guest was Draco and he felt rather lost for words faced with the tall, slender figure in his hallway, looking for all the world as if he had stepped out of a wizardwear catalogue. “Um… so, yes. This is the main building,” Harry gestured to his right then brought his hands together in front of him, “well, the only building really, I wouldn’t recommend spending time in the outbuildings, heh! I mean you can if you want, only I’ve not really had a chance to do anything with them yet.”

Draco was slowly moving his head up and down as if trying to encourage Harry to reach the end of his seemingly endless paragraph, his eyes wide as if he was listening to an idiot. Realising he was rambling, Harry coughed and stopped talking, as the safer of the available options. “Right. Look, I’m sorry. You’re my first guest and I really wasn’t expecting, well,  _ you _ . So let me just show you round.” With that Harry walked into the living room and turned to check Draco had followed. Things improved rapidly from there, with Harry feeling more in his comfort zone as he showed Draco the bookshelves and explained that everything was available to him for his own use if he would like to use it. He showed him the breakfast room, which would also serve as the evening dining room, and Harry felt his confidence building as he at last got to show someone the results of his hard work. Draco was fairly silent throughout the tour, touching a few books on the shelves, looking out the windows, but otherwise not reacting much. Until they got upstairs.

Harry had decided to put Draco into the attic room. It was quite charming, up its own small staircase from the main landing, with a door at the top, and the room had a built-in wardrobe which left plenty of space, and was full of light, with a big window at one side, and a skylight in the sloped ceiling on the other side. The view from the window was spectacular and it was furnished with a new bed, chest of drawers and a desk. If it weren’t for the main bedroom having an  _ en suite _ shower room, Harry would probably have picked this room for his own. After showing Draco where the bathroom was, he climbed up the stairs and lead Draco into the attic, Harry proudly turned around. “And this is your room.”

Harry’s smile held only for a few seconds, until with a finality in his voice, Draco pronounced, “No,” and turned round, walking back down the small staircase and starting to open the other, closed doors that opened off the landing, sticking his head into each room before dismissing it and moving on.

Following behind and scrambling after Draco, closing the doors the other man was leaving open in his wake, he confusedly asked “What? Why not? What’s wrong with it? And what are you doing?”

“To answer your questions: No, I won’t use that room. It won’t do, Potter. Where’s the bathroom? The one down here? I’m not walking downstairs to take a shower.” Draco had walked round the entire upstairs space until he’d reached the final closed door. “And what I’m doing should be obvious, I’m looking at the other options.”

Draco opened the last door, positioned slightly away from the others down a corridor, and walked in, Harry trailing behind, beginning to get an ominous feeling about what was about to happen. Taking in his surroundings, Draco was glancing around, looking unimpressed by the clothes thrown over the chair rather than hung up or folded. “Aha!” Harry’s head fell as Draco spotted the other door, opening it to reveal the  _ en suite _ bathroom. “This one. I’ll take this room. It’ll serve my needs much better.”

“Malfoy, this is  _ my _ room. You can’t just . . .”

“Do you want me to stay or not?” Draco interrupted Harry, raising an eyebrow as Harry’s protests died on his lips.

Trying to control his temper, since it wouldn’t do to throw out his first paying guest on the day of their arrival, Harry took a deep breath and reconciled himself to having to give in. “No. I mean, yes! Yes, I want you to stay. But the attic room is lovely. I realise you might prefer to have an  _ en suite _ but there are no other guests, so the bathroom down here will be exclusively for your use since...”

“No! I’m not wandering about  _ your _ house in a towel! If you want to do that, that’s your business, but I shall be maintaining my dignity and staying in the room that provides the accommodation I wish for. Namely, this one.”

Before Harry could protest any further, Draco flicked his wand and summoned his trunk, standing it up on its tail-end, and opening it to reveal a series of compartments and hooks, each holding various items of clothing, neatly arranged. Satisfied with the positioning of the trunk, he proceeded to wave his wand at the clothes around the room, which obligingly flew into the wardrobe and drawers, and everything else around the room straightened up. Harry stood helplessly as he watched the transformation of his bedroom.

“Now, my trunk will serve me serviceably as a wardrobe for the duration, if you would be so kind as to change the bed and remove your clutter from the bathroom. I believe there’s a perfectly good alternative room upstairs, and another bathroom along the hall.” Draco’s tone was pure Lord of the Manor and Harry bristled as his falling so easily into the role of master and servant.

“Look, Malfoy, I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but I’m not going to be running around after you all week.”

“I haven’t asked you to. And it’s five days, not a week. I’m perfectly fine now, or I will be once you remove your personal items. You can go about your business.”

Draco turned away to busy himself with unpacking his typewriter, leaving Harry with the uneasy feeling that he’d just been dismissed from his own bedroom. Fuming, but unable to form a coherent argument against what had just happened, he found himself falling in line with Draco’s demands. He stalked off into the bathroom where he stubbornly picked up every bottle and item that lined the counter, beyond what he could reasonably manage, and carried them out of the room.

***

As Draco felt, more than saw, Harry walk out of the bedroom he let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. He hadn’t been confident about getting away with pulling off such an outrageous demand, and could barely believe Harry had gone along with it without more of a protest. He must really want to please his guest. Placing the typewriter centrally on the surface in front of the window, Draco was removing the cover when he heard a series of thumps from the hallway followed by an exclamation of “Bugger!” Curious, he went to the doorway and looked out onto the landing to see Harry bent down picking up the scattered bottles of his toiletries that it appeared he had dropped trying to open the door to the bathroom. He was obviously unaware he was being watched and Draco appreciated the pull of the fabric of his jeans across his thighs and backside as he reached around to gather everything back together before standing and carrying it all into the bathroom, whose door was now open.

Draco smiled and once again looked around the room he had chosen. He could see why Harry had picked it. The light coming in from the window was wonderful, with a view out over the surrounding hills that reminded Draco of the scenery around Hogwarts, unsurprisingly given their proximity to the castle. But there would be no fear of daylight interrupting his sleep if he didn’t want it to. The window had wonderful heavy curtains tied back on either side, in a deep red (Draco’s discerning eye would have more accurately described it as a burgundy, but he was sure Harry was not that particular). The ties were edged in gold and Draco rolled his eyes at the cliche of Harry choosing Gryffindor colours for his private decor. At least the bedding wasn’t also in red, but a rich cream colour (although with red accents). A built-in wardrobe ran along one wall, and a desk was under the window, next to a chest of drawers. Draco’s trunk was in the corner between the desk and the bathroom door. Out of the way but easily accessed.

“Excuse me.”

Draco turned and stepped to the side as Harry ducked around him, brushing against Draco’s side, carrying fresh sheets which he dumped on the bed. Not even looking at Draco, Harry walked to the bathroom, where he cast a series of housekeeping spells to clean it, before using another to quickly and efficiently strip the bed and put an identical, clean, duvet cover and sheet on, with matching pillow cases. Then he picked up the ones he’d stripped off the bed and walked to the door, turning to face his guest.

“Well Malfoy, I hope you’ll be very happy with your accommodation. Do let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you. What time would you like your dinner?”

Draco could hear the barely concealed rage beneath Harry’s calm question and decided discretion was the better part of valour on this occasion. “7pm will be fine, thank you.” He nodded as Harry paused for a second, looking straight at Draco with an odd look on his face. Draco began to feel uncomfortable under the scrutiny but just as he was about to say something to end the awkward silence, Harry turned and left the room, pulling the door closed behind him.

Suddenly aware that he was, for all intents and purposes, ‘on holiday’ (even if so far it hadn’t been exactly relaxing), Draco grinned to himself and pushed his hair back with both hands. Toeing off his shoes  – and feeling quite gleeful that no house elf suddenly appeared to tidy them away from the middle of the carpet – he walked over and hopped up, landing laid out on the top of the duvet, head on the pillow. It was far more comfortable than he expected, the pillows cushioning his head, but giving way just enough, and as he lay there he could feel himself relaxing. He had a couple of hours before dinner, there was no rush to start with his writing and no harm in taking some time out.

He really had meant his protest about having to walk outside his room to get to the bathroom. What might be perfectly acceptable in one’s own house was another thing entirely in a strange place. What was Potter thinking of? Was this a common occurrence in muggle accommodation? It was easy enough to extend a room with wizarding space and a bathroom could have been added upstairs without any trouble, but obviously such simple solutions were beyond Potter. Otherwise the upstairs room would have been perfectly acceptable for Draco’s needs. But being able to appropriate Harry’s own room, well, that was just a bonus. Draco smiled to himself thinking of the reaction he had provoked and just how much he had enjoyed it. He couldn’t stand it when Potter just gave him the same mild, polite reaction that was seen when reporters or fans managed to corner him. He knew there was a personality lurking under the facade somewhere, it just needed uncovering.

Idly, Draco wondered what was hidden away behind the closed wardrobe doors and in the drawers but he couldn’t be bothered to investigate right now, all his energy seemed to have deserted him and he decided a few minutes’ sleep would probably not be a bad idea, though it wasn’t worth getting changed. He didn’t plan on wearing these clothes again, so there was no harm if they got a little wrinkled. Shifting around to get comfortable he curled on his side and shut his eyes, enjoying the peace and quiet of being out of the city and away from Blaise and the crowds that plagued him in London. He had to acknowledge that Harry had found a fantastic location for a hideaway. As long as he kept out of Draco’s way, perhaps this week wouldn’t be too bad after all.

Downstairs in the kitchen, Harry violently stuffed the bedding he’d only just put onto his bed yesterday into his laundry basket, which connected to a national laundry service for wizards. Tomorrow morning the bedding would reappear in the basket, fresh and clean, along with anything else sent through. Harry had considered looking into getting a muggle washing machine and dryer installed but decided that was a step too far. Cooking he enjoyed, but he didn’t want to start having to do laundry for everyone that stayed with him.

It was just after 4 p.m. There was plenty of time before dinner, but Harry didn’t want to leave anything to chance. He’d requested dietary information as part of his booking procedure, so knew what foods Draco liked and didn’t like, and had stocked his pantry accordingly, planning to serve a chicken pie this evening, followed by cheesecake. But given the way he’d been treated so far, he mulled over options for revenge. Draco had clearly said he had no allergies but he did have a strong dislike of mushrooms and peanuts.  _ Well _ , thought Harry,  _ what a shame my best chicken pie recipe is actually a chicken and mushroom pie _ .  _ It would be a pity not to do the recipe justice _ .  _ And crushed peanuts add a lovely crunch to the base of my cheesecake _ .

Feeling a little better about his decision, ( _ which was not at all petty _ , Harry told the voice in the back of his mind), Harry began to get out the ingredients to make his pastry. It was an excellent way to take out some of the frustration he was feeling about the man currently ensconced upstairs in Harry’s own bedroom. The one place in the house that was his alone, and he’d just given it up without a fight. Draco had been so quietly secure in his demands that Harry hadn’t wanted to seem childish by arguing back, even though really, what Draco had done would have been unacceptable in any other situation. As he mixed together his dry and wet ingredients to form a dough, Harry imagined all the things he should have said. He should have put his foot down and told Draco that the room wasn’t available, that that area of the building was private and not for guests, that if Draco wanted to sleep in there he’d have to sleep with Harry to do it… No wait, that came out wrong. Although now his head was filled with images pale skin, arms wrapped around him, of featherlight kisses, of waking up curled around a warm body, with blond hair tickling his nose, that were far more tantalising than he wanted to admit, more well-developed than any daydream had the right to be, and that he’d quickly suppressed. He had to be professional about this. He couldn’t spend all his time mooning over Draco’s hands and wanting to push that hair back from falling into those intense grey eyes, even though it did so constantly and Harry didn’t understand why Draco didn’t just cut it. Except that it looked really good.

Sighing at himself wanting something he could never have, Harry tipped out his dough onto the marble counter, and shook his head to clear his thoughts. Harry kneaded it a little to shape it, before wrapping it in a protective spell and putting it into his fridge to rest and began to prepare his cheesecake. He didn’t see any point in wasting time daydreaming about Draco Malfoy, when he was the last person on earth that Harry could ever be with. Even if Harry’s friends could come to terms with the relationship, the press would never leave them alone. Draco’s star had risen just as Harry was finally escaping the spotlight and he didn’t want to encourage any more attention than he already received. The idea of the two of them together would be irresistible, and it wouldn’t just be Rita Skeeter that came after the story.

Suddenly alarmed, Harry dropped the mixing bowl onto the counter with a clatter. His well-thumbed copy of Draco’s book was lying out in the open on the bottom shelf of his bedside table. If Draco took more than a cursory look around, he’d find it and know that Harry had been reading it, recently and repeatedly. Bother! Harry had to do something before that happened, he’d never live it down. Draco would crow it over him all week, and then probably resort to sending owls after his visit was over.

Wondering what Draco was doing now, and whether there was any way to get him out of the room, Harry decided to at least attempt to save his dignity. He walked upstairs and gently knocked on the door to his room. There was no answer. Frowning, he knocked again and waited what seemed an excessive length of time, but still no answer. Looking around him, as if Ron or Hermione would be over his shoulder to encourage him forwards, he faced the door and cautiously put his hand on the knob and turned, opening it slowly, not wanting to be subject to a scathing diatribe for invading Draco’s personal space. But nothing happened. 

Harry carefully looked around the door and realised he had the perfect opportunity. Draco had fallen asleep on top of the duvet, still dressed, but curled up on his side, one hand underneath the pillow, one hand on top. He was facing towards the bedside table where Harry could see the book lying, casually placed there, bottom edge peaking off the shelf where the name ‘Draco Malfoy’ could clearly be read, even from the doorway, which was directly opposite the table. Harry looked down and, on the spur of the moment, decided to take his shoes off, the better to stealthily creep through the room. Thankful the floorboards didn’t creak too much, despite the age of the house, he slowly walked across the carpet, wincing at the noise of his jeans brushing against each other, sure that every sound was going to disturb Draco.

Reaching the side of the bed, and now better able to see Draco’s face, he was surprised to see how young Draco looked while asleep. All the features of his face were smoothed out and he looked incredibly peaceful. Not wanting to risk being in the room too long, Harry took the last few steps and crouched down to grab hold of the incriminating tome. He was about to back away when he became aware of two grey eyes watching him from the left. Harry’s fight-or-flight response kicked in and he felt a surge of adrenaline. He froze for what seemed like an eternity, holding Draco’s eyes, before whispering something which came out as “ _ bkkkgphhoer” _ that even he wasn’t sure had actually meant anything, and bolting out the room, clutching the book to his chest, ignoring his shoes.

From behind him, Harry heard a yell of “Potter! What did you nick?! What was that?!”, and to his horror he heard footsteps behind him. Draco had obviously seen Harry holding something as he made his escape and decided to give chase. The ridiculousness of the situation did not escape Harry as he ran down the stairs, grabbing the top of the post at the end of the banister to swing around and head for the kitchen. He glanced behind him and saw Draco’s feet just appearing at the top of the stairs and slammed the kitchen door, grateful for the old lock on the door that he’d left the key in as a curiosity, that apparently still worked. Breathing heavily he sank down to sit on the stone floor, with his back against the wall next to the door, and tried to calm down. But a sudden knocking made him start and look upwards, as if he would be able to see something hitting the wood above his head. The sight of the door handle turning and the shout of “Potter! Let me in!” cause Harry to start giggling like a child, suddenly filled with hilarity at what had just happened and the mental image of Draco stood in the hallway, locked out of the kitchen and hammering on the door having just been woken up from a nap, hair ruffled and sleepy-eyed, slightly out of breath from running through the house. 

***

Harry’s vision of exactly what Draco looked like at that moment wasn’t too far from the truth. He hadn’t quite been asleep when he heard a knocking at the door, but as he couldn’t think of any reason Harry would need him, he’d ignored it, figuring they could just discuss whatever it was later when Draco came down for dinner. The knocking had stopped but then Draco had heard a quiet click as the door was opened and, curious as to what Harry wanted, Draco had remained still. He hadn’t heard much as Harry had crept into the room, but sensed him coming closer and finally standing in the space next to the bed. Finally, Draco’s curiosity had got the better of him, and when he opened his eyes, he was eye level with Harry’s mop of black hair. Harry was crouched down at the bedside table, obviously retrieving something he must not have wanted Draco to see. Chasing after Harry had simply been instinct. It was as if whatever he’d taken had turned into a snitch and Draco needed to catch it, nevermind that the analogy didn’t really work since Harry already had his hands on it. As Harry ran out of the room, Draco had scrambled to follow after him, almost tripping over a pair of shoes left outside the bedroom doorway, and racing downstairs, following Harry’s progress as he swung towards the back of the house. Having what appeared to be the kitchen door swing closed in his face just as he reached it and hearing the click of a lock just stoked Draco’s determination to discover what it was that Harry didn’t want him to see. He hammered on the door, calling through it, only to be greeted with the sound of giggles.

The sound of Harry’s laughter was the final straw and Draco suddenly remembered that he was a wizard. Pulling out his wand he pointed it at the lock and in one swift moment cast  _ Alohamora _ and kicked the door open. Thankfully Harry was right next to the door, rather than against it and Draco seized his opportunity. As Harry’s face fell from amusement to alarm, and he yelped “No!”, pulling what turned out to be a book towards him, Draco reached down and grabbed it. Filled with glee at his victory, he turned it over to see what his prize was… and was presented with his own face looking back at him, from the cover of his book, the book that he wrote, the book that apparently Harry Potter kept in his bedroom, next to his bed, and, judging by the cracks in the spine, had read more than once. Draco stood, holding the book, looking down at it, unable to figure out quite how to react.

“Malfoy?”

Harry’s enquiry broke through Draco’s reverie and he suddenly realised he’d been stood there for thirty seconds essentially just blinking. He looked up at Harry, who had got to his feet from his position on the floor and was stood in front of Draco, looking unsure and a bit nervous, which was understandable. Draco would have been nervous too if their positions had been reversed. Suddenly a wave of vulnerability swept over Draco. The fact that  _ Harry Potter _ might have read his tell-all autobiography had never really crossed his mind, and he was inundated with recollections of the parts of the book mentioning Harry, particularly those where he had described how much he had wanted to be his friend when they first met, and how hurt he’d been at being rejected, resulting in a grudge which lasted for years, driving Draco further into the control of his family and almost getting them both killed.

“A bit of bedtime reading, Potter? Which is your favourite bit? The part where my father forced me to take the Dark Mark or the bit where I had to run for my life after seeing my godfather kill Dumbledore? Or maybe that time I almost died after you attacked me?”

Draco winced as he heard himself lash out defensively. This really wasn’t a situation he had ever anticipated, or wanted. He thrust the book out towards Harry, not wanting to have it in his possession anymore, as if getting rid of the item would get rid of the feelings of embarrassment and insecurity about what Harry might have thought about him while reading  _ Caught in a Spider’s Web _ . He wanted nothing more than to go back upstairs and pretend this hadn’t happened.

When Harry didn’t immediately take the book from him, Draco simply dropped it down to the floor beside him and walked away, turning to go back upstairs. He had reached the landing when a hand caught his right wrist and pulled to turn him back.

“Draco, wait.”

In his surprise at Harry stopping him, and  _ touching  _ him, Draco didn’t even notice Harry calling him by his first name. 

“There’s no need to be embarrassed. I was trying to avoid any embarrassment, on  _ either _ of our parts. That’s why I came in to get the book in the first place. I didn’t read it to make you feel bad. I read it so I could understand, because I was interested. And I really enjoyed it.” Draco realised his wrist was still held loosely by Harry’s left hand by their sides, but made no move to tug his arm away, wanting to hear what Harry had to say, and already surprised by what he was hearing. And he was glad he did, because the next words out of Harry’s mouth were two that he never expected to hear.

“I’m sorry.” Looking straight at Draco, Harry seemed to find it so simple to say, Draco didn’t know how he managed it and also didn’t know what was wrong with him. The past ten minutes had been such a rollercoaster of emotions, and now he suddenly felt empty. All resistance had fled and he was tired of arguing with Harry. He didn’t even know why they still did. Had neither of them matured at all in the past six years? 

“Sorry?” Draco almost didn’t recognise his own voice, sounding as meek as he’d ever heard it. This wouldn’t do. He straightened his spine, hoping to appear at least a little more together than he currently felt inside. “Sorry for what?”

“For disturbing you. For running away. Hell, for everything. We were kids, Draco. Kids with the weight of the world on our shoulders and little understanding of what we were caught up in. Can we just put it behind us? Make a fresh start? You’re here for a holiday, I don’t want to make it stressful. So let’s agree to move on and just get on with each other, at least for this week. I’m sure we can manage it if we both try.”

Harry let go of Draco’s wrist and stuck out his other hand, reciprocating the offer of friendship from Draco that Harry had spurned all those years ago.

***

Harry braced himself for rejection, no idea what Draco was thinking at all. In all honesty, he’d never imagined seeing Draco as emotional as he had been downstairs, without the mask of confidence he usually presented, and suspecting the other man must now be feeling embarrassed at his reaction, had decided to address that outright, telling Draco how much he’d enjoyed his book. It had been a long time since the war, and it was time to move on. 

A moment later, Draco reached out and grasped Harry’s in a firm handshake. Harry felt a grin break out on his face, and gently squeezed back.

“Alright. A fresh start.” Draco echoed Harry’s words back to him, still holding Harry’s hand, prolonging the contact.

“Great. Well, I guess I should get back to dinner.” Harry felt the colour rise in his face the longer Draco continued to hold his hand, no longer moving it up and down, but not letting go and steadily holding his gaze. Draco’s skin was soft, which was not surprising, since he didn’t work with his hands, but Harry could feel a couple of callouses which were likely caused by his days playing Quidditch. Harry had similar on his own hands.

And then Draco smiled, and Harry forgot about dinner. He’d never seen Draco smile in person, only in publicity photos for his book, and Harry realised that there was a gulf between that and the smile now on Draco’s face. His fine features were brightened, and some of the pointiness that characterised the blond was softened. He looked boyish and an entirely different person to the – let’s be honest – snide and unpleasant youth that Harry had known at Hogwarts.

“Don’t think this means I’m going to go easy on you. Harry.”

“Wouldn’t want it any other way.” Harry finally released his grip and put both hands into the pocket of his jeans and rocking back on his heels. The movement reminded him that he was only in his socks and he said, “Excuse me,” and went to pick up the shoes he’d abandoned in his earlier rush to get downstairs. Feeling rather bashful about the entire episode, Harry ducked his head as he went back past Draco and headed for the stairs, mentally revising his planned sabotage of Draco’s dinner. Deliberately serving him food he disliked after they’d called a truce seemed like it would be a backwards step. He risked one more glance towards Draco as he walked down the stairs, who was still stood in the same spot, and who made a small movement as if he was going to wave at Harry as he left before thinking better of it and aborting the movement. The last Harry saw of him was him turning on his heel and heading back to the bedroom. Harry wondered if he was feeling quite so surprised-yet-pleased about the turn of events as Harry was.

Dinner turned out to be a peaceful event. Draco came downstairs at 7 o’clock and took himself into the breakfast room without any involvement from Harry. When Harry went in to ask whether Draco wanted something to drink, he found that his guest had apparently not wanted to risk Harry’s skills as a sommelier and had brought his own Pinot Noir with him, which he’d already poured into the wine glass on the table, and only wanted his host to supply him with a jug and a second glass so that he might also have water. 

He graciously accepted the plate of food that Harry set before him and even complimented Harry’s pastry when Harry brought the cheesecake in to sit on the sideboard and came over to conjure away the main course crockery. Admittedly, one might suggest that actual  _ conversation _ was lacking, but Harry reminded himself that Draco wasn’t over for dinner as a friend. Harry wasn’t going to be sitting with the other man enjoying a shared meal, and so he had no reason to push for further interaction. But at the end of the evening when Draco had once again taken himself back upstairs and Harry was eating his own slice of cheesecake at the kitchen table, he found himself feeling a little disappointed.  _ There’s always tomorrow _ , he thought to himself. After all, Draco had only arrived that afternoon and look what had already happened! They had the next four days ahead of them…

Pleased with the outcome of his first day officially running a guesthouse, Harry took his plate over to the rest of the dishes and cast the spells to set everything cleaning, and for all the dishes to put themselves away afterwards, then headed upstairs. He was passing by his bedroom when he realised he had nothing to sleep in. Closing his eyes for a moment, hoping that Draco hadn’t gone to sleep yet, he stepped over and knocked on the door, a little more firmly than he had earlier in the day.

After a few moments, Draco opened the door part-way, and Harry blinked to see the blond not in his pristine outfit from earlier, but a pair of flannel pyjama bottoms and a simple t-shirt, looking much more relaxed and casual than Harry had ever imagined was possible for him. Noticing Harry looking at his clothes Draco shifted a little, but his tone was amused when he said “What? Did you expect me to sleep in a suit and tie?”

“No, but that’s why I knocked actually. All my clothes are in there with you. Could I come in and grab a few things?”

“Oh, of course. Yes.” Draco stepped back to let Harry through.

Harry quickly moved around the room and gathered what he needed for the night and the next few days. He took in the small changes around the room since Draco had taken possession, the typewriter on the table with a few pieces of parchment and a quill next to it, the open trunk in the corner, and the black brogues perfectly lined up at the end of the bed. Draco had stayed by the door, holding it open, silently watching as Harry collected his things and then returned. “Well, good night then. I’ll be up early, do you know what time you want breakfast? I forgot to ask earlier.”

“Oh.” Draco considered Harry’s question for a few moments. “I’ll be down at about half eight.”

“Great, okay. I’ll see you tomorrow then.” Harry headed out the room and called out “Night!” as Draco closed the door again and he headed up the stairs to the attic.

***

Draco was wonderfully comfortable. He felt safe and warm, so warm, and it was like he was floating, with his eyes shut, surrounded by clouds and everything was perfectly peaceful. Unfortunately a crow was squawking at him and interrupting his serenity. He tried batting it away but it dodged out of his reach and continued its infernal noise, piercing through the calm. Eventually, in order to rid himself of the damned bird, Draco opened his eyes… only to discover he wasn’t surrounded by clouds, but by pillows and a duvet. And there was no crow, but some sort of alarm spell programmed into the clock on the bedside table. Screwing his face up at the inhumanity of being woken at some inhuman hour – judging by the light creeping through the slight gap left between the curtains, the sun hadn’t even risen yet – Draco reached under the pillow for his wand, narrowed his eyes, and sent an  _ Expulso _ at the offending clock, which promptly exploded into its component parts, leaving a sorry pile of cogs, gears and metal work lying on the surface, the clock’s hands left pointing at, Draco squinted, 6 o’clock! Urgh!

Obviously the clock was set to wake Harry up and he had forgotten to warn Draco, or take it with him when he collected his things last night. If Draco hated anything in the world, it was being woken up before he was ready. There was nobody that was less of a morning person than the Malfoy heir. If allowed he would laze about until 10am. The only reason he had said he would be up by half eight today was that he did want to use the full day for writing and had decided to apply discipline to himself for the week. His wand had a  _ Tempus _ charm on it for a 7.45am alert. And now here he was awake, a full hour and three-quarters before he needed to be. Then Draco sat up… Harry was probably still blissfully asleep upstairs. The thought of the Gryffindor enjoying his rest after Draco had been so rudely awakened was intolerable and filled Draco with a motivation he had never yet felt so early in the day. Muttering to himself about inconsiderate hosts he got out the warmth of the bed and grabbed a pair of thick socks from his trunk, hopping into them before quietly opening the door and going out onto the landing. There was a definite chill in the air and Draco shivered as the cool air hit his bare arms.

Still full of resentment about losing sleep, Draco crept up the stairs to the attic and slowly opened the door. Directly in front of him, with the head of the bed to his right, he could see Harry still deeply asleep, breathing heavily in the early morning silence. Apparently Harry took full advantage of all available space, he was sprawled over the whole double bed on his front, feet towards opposite corners, one foot sticking out from under the duvet and slightly over the edge of the bed. Draco paused, wishing he had a way to record just how ridiculous Harry looked right now, face mashed against the pillow, hair sticking in every direction, purely for blackmail purposes, nothing more. However, not wishing to fall victim to the same fate as Harry yesterday, he moved forwards and pointed his wand at Harry’s head.

“ _ Aguamenti _ .”

At Draco’s word, a fountain of water gushed out of the tip of his wand, straight into Harry’s face, provoking a very undignified yelp, followed by Harry falling off the side of the bed when the duvet refused to cooperate with his reactionary movements.

“What the fuck!?” Harry exclaimed, looking up towards Draco from where he was now sat on the floor, hair lying flat against his forehead, water dripping down his face and t-shirt thoroughly dampened.

“Your alarm went off, Potter.”

Not feeling the need to elaborate any further Draco turned around, strode out the room and back down the small staircase, enjoying the shout of “Malfoy!” that followed his progress. Revenge was sweet. Now he was fully awake, he didn’t see the point in getting back into bed, he knew he wouldn’t be getting any more sleep, so went to take a shower instead. By the time he’d enjoyed the benefits of having a bathroom  _ en suite _ and dressed himself for the day (casual wear, a pair of carefully chosen designer jeans and cashmere jumper with a shirt underneath) it was 7.15 a.m. Still early, but not quite as intolerable. At least daylight was starting to appear on the horizon when he opened the curtains. Wondering whether Harry had recovered from the dunking, Draco gathered up the parts of the clock and took them with him as he headed down to the breakfast room.

Downstairs his table hadn’t been set yet, but Draco could hear noise coming from the kitchen. The door was closed, but having already invaded a variety of spaces that he was fairly sure weren’t usually available to guests, he didn’t let that stop him and went ahead and opened the door. The noise was revealed to be music from the WWN breakfast show, and Harry was busy at the hob, cooking what smelled like bacon while dancing on the spot and humming along, dressed again in jeans and an ugly sweater, with what appeared to be sheep on his feet. Draco was puzzled but resolved to worry about  _ that _ later. The domesticity of the scene put an almost fond smile on Draco’s face. He hadn’t had anyone other than a house elf cook him breakfast for years, and certainly not in such a cheerful way. Feeling a little abashed about the ruins of the clock in his arms, he walked in and dropped the parts on the large table in the centre of the room.

Harry looked up at the noise and, upon seeing the pile of metalwork on the table, casually waved his hand at the radio, switching it off.  _ Wandless magic _ , Draco thought to himself, impressed. 

“What’s that?” Harry asked, the tone of his voice suggesting he already knew the answer but was going to make Draco account for himself anyway.

“Your clock. It interrupted my sleep.”

“And you felt the need to punish it, I presume? And me.”

“It was what you both deserved. The Wizengamot would not convict.”

Harry grinned, fetched his wand from where it was lying on the kitchen counter. “ _ Reparo _ ,” he cast, pointing at the pile of parts. “And sorry about that, the alarm. It completely slipped my mind.”

Draco sniffed as a burning smell reached his nose and he nodded behind Harry where smoke was beginning to come off his frying pan, “Don’t forget your bacon.”

“Oh god!” Alarmed Harry rushed back to the hob and lifted the frying pan from the ring to move it to a cold space. “Don’t worry, all’s well. I hope you like it well-done? Could you open the back door, let a bit of the smell out?” Wafting a tea towel at the pan, which was still smoking, Harry indicated over his right shoulder to the other end of the room where Draco saw there was a black door with a small window in the top. As he got closer, he saw that the door was actually divided into two, and he released the bolts on the top half, allowing the fresh air in.

“That’s better,” Harry said from behind him. “Look, why don’t you go sit down. I’ll be through in a minute to lay the table. Is there anything you want particularly this morning? I’ve got your basic breakfast order here from your booking, but you can add other things if you’d like.”

“No, no, I think I’ll stick around. It’s more entertaining in here.” As if to prove his point, Draco watched as Harry reached into the pan to try picking up a piece of bacon, only to snatch his fingers back to avoid being burnt.

“That’s not how this is supposed to work.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re the guest and I’m the owner.”

Draco sat himself down at the table, as if bedding in for a siege, watching Harry’s back as he continued to prepare the food. “You’re the Saviour of the wizarding world and I’m a former-Death Eater-cum-author, and we’ve known each other since we were 11. I hardly think the normal rules need apply.”

Harry glanced over his shoulder at Draco, who looked innocently back, noticing that, while he’d clearly made an effort to dry his hair, it was still slightly damp. Harry turned back to the hob.

“Fine, if you’re going to insist, you can at least be useful. Plates are in the top right cupboard over there, cutlery is in the drawer beneath, mugs on the mug tree and glasses in the cabinet. Set the table for two. This is almost done.” Harry cracked a couple of eggs into the now-bacon-free frying pan, not seeing Draco’s raised eyebrow at being put to work, even as he obliged and mulled over the situation he found himself in. Not just a guest of Harry’s business, but having breakfast with his host, in his kitchen as if it was something they did every day. He was surprised how comfortable he felt just spending time with Harry, it wasn’t something he’d ever done before.

A couple of minutes later, Harry set a full teapot in the centre of the table, and brought over two loaded breakfast plates. “Dig in,” he said, as he placed one in front of Draco, and sat on the opposite side of the table, picking up his knife and fork and following his own instructions. It did smell delicious, and Draco realised just how hungry he was. A good breakfast deserved to be enjoyed, so he decided to do just that.

***

Draco and Harry parted ways after their unexpected meal together, Draco back upstairs to begin work, while Harry got on with clearing up, and occupied himself with various chores. He’d given Draco a key to the front door, so felt no qualms about heading down to the village on foot later that morning, a walk which he tried to do most days, though sometimes he did just veg out on the couch instead, particularly when the weather was foul. There were a few supplies he wanted to pick up, and he could take down the unnecessary sign pointing the way to the farm while he was there. It took about 45 minutes to walk, gently downhill, and the scenery never failed to make it a pleasant jaunt. Harry thought maybe he would ask Draco to join him one day, to show him the local area and get him out the house – clearly after yesterday’s journey, the former Slytherin wouldn’t be asking to travel in the Land Rover any time soon.

It was a cool, slightly windy Autumn day, but pleasant enough with a good coat to keep out the breeze, and Harry dawdled a little on his return trip, visiting a small stream that ran nearby and mentally compiling a list of all the places he’d like to show Draco. He imagined the Draco would insist on bundling up in a scarf, and maybe a hat, before he’d even consider wandering the highlands. He probably hadn’t brought any decent boots with him, but it would be easy enough to transfigure something that would suit. Then afterwards they could head back inside and spend the evening drinking hot chocolate in front of a warm fire, listening to the wind blow and rattle the windows in their frames.

Harry stopped himself. He could see it all so clearly in his mind, it was so  _ cosy _ . Draco would have a red nose from where it had been exposed to the cold, and Harry would kiss the tip, laughing at the token protests Draco put up. After a few minutes wrestling, they would settle against each other, lying on the sofa, enjoying the sensation of languid kisses. Just them, the rest of the world far away and forgotten, and later they’d walk upstairs together, Draco leading Harry by the hand. Harry’s heart panged. Did he really want that? Could he  _ have  _ that? He and Draco had only just come to terms with each other as tentative friends, agreeing to put aside their differences, and this morning hadn’t exactly begun smoothly. Surely it was too soon to progress their relationship even further? And yet, Harry couldn’t help but think that there was a potential there. That maybe Draco felt it too. He recalled the smile Draco had given him yesterday and knew that he wanted to see that smile again, that he wanted Draco to smile like that all the time, that he wanted to be the one to put it there.

But now he’d realised all this, what was he supposed to do now? He couldn’t very well go back to the farm and declare his intentions. (Well he could, but Harry didn’t suppose they would be very well received.) It would have to be delicately handled. Harry knew what his friends thought of him, full of Gryffindor courage, willing to face up to what needed to be done but not always using the most subtle of approaches, but he could be Slytherin too. He didn’t want to blunder in and scare Draco away before they’d even gotten to know each other as adults. He had four more days in which to impress Draco, to attract him, so he’d just take the opportunities that arose and make the most of them.

Harry stuck his hands into the pockets of this coat to warm them up. He’d been out here longer than he intended, lost in thought, and still had a good while to go before he got home. He continued mulling over the situation he found himself in as he walked back. Even though it was only mid-afternoon, the light had dimmed somewhat thanks to clouds moving in – it looked like rain – and Harry noticed from a distance away that the lights were on in the living room, rather than upstairs in his bedroom. Draco must have migrated downstairs while Harry was out. He wondered whether Draco had helped himself to anything for lunch. There was plenty in the fridge, and since they were so far from anywhere, Harry wasn’t going to begrudge his guest a meal, although he hoped he’d not eaten too much after the large breakfast they’d had, which would be followed by another decent meal tonight. Harry didn’t want his planned meal to go to waste because Draco had had his fill already.

Letting himself in, Harry enjoyed the hit of warmth as he entered the hallway. He stripped off his coat and boots and took the bag of groceries he’d bought into the kitchen, where he noticed a small plate and glass next to the sink. He’d been right then, Draco had raided the fridge, but it didn’t look like he’d eaten much. That was good. Harry started unpacking the vegetables and dried pasta he’d bought and was half inside a cupboard when he heard “You’re back,” from the doorway. Extracting himself, Harry stood, dusting his hands and turned to his guest, intending to ask whether he wanted a cup of tea, but what instead came out was “Why are you carrying books?”

Because Draco was stood in the doorway to the kitchen with a pile of about six books in his hands, for all the world looking like a librarian emerging from the depths of the shelves. Harry took in the fact that apparently Draco wore glasses, and stored that detail for thinking about later, and surveyed the rest of the sight before him. Draco’s shirt looked slightly dusty, and had come slightly untucked from the figure-hugging jeans. And finally, at some point that day, Draco had lost his socks. His feet were as elegant as the rest of him, fine boned and pale.

“I didn’t know when you’d be back. I thought I’d be finished.” Draco looked down at the pile of books in his arms and Harry still had no idea what he was talking about. 

“Finished? Doing what?”

Draco didn’t respond to Harry’s question, he just looked at him for a few seconds. Harry did not find this encouraging. There was a definite hint of guilt to Draco’s expression, as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. The next moment, Draco simply turned and walked away, talking at Harry as he went, as if he expected Harry to follow at his heel. He was right, of course, but that wasn’t the point. 

“I came downstairs to look for inspiration. You’ve got so many books, but  _ Merlin _ ! The organisation! It simply wouldn’t do, so I had to move a few things around. It was more complicated than I thought though, which is why—” and Draco led Harry into the living room, where they both stopped. Because it wasn’t really possible to walk across the room any more. Harry gawked at the scene before him. Hermione’s carefully cultivated library – a library where Harry had always made sure to replace a book back in the right place after reading – was strewn across the floor in various piles, some tottering due to the height, others that had clearly already given in to gravity.

Harry exclaimed accusingly, “What have you done!?!”

“Only what needed to be done. Honestly, Potter, you had your books organised by the Dewey Decimal system – a muggle system! – rather than Elfrida Corner. You can’t organise wizard books by the wrong system, everything will be jumbled. It took me ten minutes to find  _ The Once and Future King _ . It was under fiction!”

Quite honestly, Draco had lost Harry at ‘Dewey Decimal’ but, as Harry stepped cautiously around the various piles of books about the room, he comprehended enough to understand that Draco had taken offence at Hermione’s work and, rather than say something, had decided the only solution was to destroy Harry’s living room.

“Malfoy, forgive me if I ask the obvious question here, but even if you didn’t like the way the books were on the shelves, why are they now on the floor? It took Hermione a single spell to put everything away originally.”

At Harry’s question, Draco flushed slightly and he moved to put the books he was still carrying down on a pile over by the fireplace, then busied himself with taking some more books of the shelf to the right and distributing those around, not responding to Harry’s question at all. Harry sighed; as much as he wanted to know, Draco obviously didn’t want to explain any further.

“Look, how long is this going to take you, do you think?”

“It’ll take as long as it needs to. Organisational activities help me think. I need to think in order to write. I’m here to write. Or do you not want to read the sequel to  _ Spider’s Web _ ?”

Harry blinked at the reminder of being caught with Draco’s first book while the other man continued. 

“So really, letting me continue is in your best interests as well. Don’t you have shopping to finish putting away?”

At his final question, Draco looked up at Harry from where he was now knelt, not far from where Harry was standing. Harry felt rather off balance looking down at Draco from above like this, which was not helped when Draco suddenly stood. Instinctively swaying backwards at the movement, Harry’s foot landed awkwardly on a messy pile of books he hadn’t known was behind him and he felt himself start to fall. Looking with alarm at Draco, everything seemed to slow down as he reached out to the Draco to steady himself, only managing to grab hold of him and pull, rather than secure his position, and resulting in them both crashing to the ground rather than Harry alone.

“Ugh.” A very undignified grunt came forth from Harry as he landed on his back, Draco on top of him. His first thought was that he was glad to have missed hitting his head, though he could feel various corners and edges of books pushing into his back. His second thought was about the fact that Draco was lying flush against him, one of Harry’s legs between his own, his face down on Harry’s chest. Harry could feel Draco’s hair tickling his chin. What seemed like an age passed before either of them moved, though in reality it could only have been a few seconds.

Draco lifted his head and pushed his chest up with a hand on either side of Harry’s head. This has the unfortunate effect of pushing down his lower body and Harry let out what could kindly be described as a whine as the Draco’s crotch brushed his own. At the sound, Draco stopped moving and held himself where he was, demonstrating a strength that impressed Harry and made him wonder whether Draco regularly exercised. “Are you ok Potter?”

Harry felt the colour rise on his neck, spreading upwards. “Yes, fine,” he coughed out.

“Are you sure? You seem a little . . .”

“I’m fine, really,” Harry interrupted, quietly. Draco’s face was so close to his own, and he wondered what would happen if he just raised his head a couple of inches and kissed him. Would Draco be disgusted? He certainly didn’t seem to be rushing to get up. He was looking down straight at Harry, quite intensely. Curious, Harry slowly licked his lips and was rewarded with Draco’s eyes flickering down to follow the progress of his tongue. Harry’s breathing suddenly seemed incredibly loud and he was intensely aware of everywhere he and Draco were touching, he could feel the movement of air from Draco’s breath on his face. He shifted somewhat and became more aware of the uncomfortableness of his position, with various books lying beneath his back and shoulders, wincing at the feeling of bruises beginning to form after the fall.

Seeing the discomfort in his face, Draco at last moved to stand, breaking the connection between the two of them and dusting himself off. When he spoke, Harry was a bit disappointed that it was as if the previous moment had already been forgotten. “Sorry. I guess I should have asked you first.”

Harry smiled gently. “No, it’s fine. You’re the only guest at the moment after all. Why shouldn’t you choose to spend your time reorganising my library. It’s a  _ little _ unorthodox, sure, but no harm done.”

“‘Unorthodox’ is it? You really have been reading these books.” Draco returned Harry’s smile, brushing his hair off his face, where it had fallen in the ruckus.

“Don’t start. You’re not out of the doghouse yet.”

“Oh? And what do I need to do to be forgiven?”  _ He’s flirting with me,  _ Harry thought. Draco’s tone was definitely flirtatious, could maybe even be described as coy. 

Buoyed at the thought that Draco might reciprocate his interest, Harry responded, “Good question. I’ll need to think about that and let you know later. I’ve got a dinner to get started, and you’ve got books to reshelve.”

Feeling hopeful about the rest of the week, Harry left Draco to the books and returned to the kitchen to finish putting things away before he made their dinner that evening.

***

The next afternoon, Draco had finally managed to come up with a coherent plan for the structure of his new book, having made himself sit down at the typewriter after breakfast (again with Harry in the kitchen, rather than served in the Breakfast Room) and just work. He had come up with a few ideas during the hours he’d spent sorting out Harry’s books yesterday, scribbling them down before he’d gone to bed, and this morning’s work had coalesced them into what was the skeleton of what he wanted to write. Pleased with himself, he stretched both arms out to the side and lengthened his back, wincing as a few kinks worked themselves out. He realised he’d been hunched over at his typewriter for the past two hours without a break even for coffee, and it was well past time for lunch. Never one not to reward himself for a job well done, he decided he deserved the rest of the day off. 

He also deserved company. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy solitude, there were times when he shut himself away because he couldn’t stand the idea of interacting with anyone else, but now was not one of those times. He wanted conversation and there was only one man around to provide it. A few days ago, if Blaise had suggested to him that Draco might actually seek out Harry’s company during his stay, he would have scoffed at the idea. But even before yesterday’s…  _ moment _ … and a pleasant dinner later that evening, spent talking about Harry’s experience of setting up the guesthouse, Draco had found himself enjoying spending time with the other man much more than he would have imagined possible.

Grabbing his coat, Draco went downstairs looking for Harry, but there was no sign of him. Even the kitchen was empty, with everything tidied away. Draco helped himself to an apple from the fruit bowl sat on the table. He’d eaten a substantial breakfast so didn’t want a full lunch, but still had the urge to snack after working for so long. Since Harry didn’t seem to be around, Draco decided to explore a little of the surrounding area but when he went to unlock the back door, he found it already unlocked. Surprised, but not alarmed, he let himself out into the small garden area behind the house. Harry had explained that he planned on growing vegetables out here, like the previous owners, but it was currently rather rundown and overgrown. Green fingers were obviously not one of Harry’s attributes. This thought caused Draco to start thinking about Harry’s hands, which he had been admiring the previous evening while he watched Harry cook. He definitely had an appreciation for a good pair of hands, and Harry’s were excellent examples, attached to similarly excellent wrists and forearms. Draco had first noticed them at school, but would never have admitted that any of his time in class was spent daydreaming about  _ Harry Potter’s hands _ .

Walking round the side of the building, Draco noticed that one of the doors to the biggest barn was open and, curiosity getting the better of him, headed over to have a look. Slipping through the gap, he found himself in what appeared to be an old stable, with a central corridor running between a number of stalls on either side. He heard a rustling noise from the far end, and looked up in time to see Harry appear out of the last stall on the right, carrying an armload of brooms.

“Hey,” Draco called out to get Harry’s attention as he walked through the barn. “Planning on organising a Quidditch match or something?”

Draco felt a little thrilled at the grin he received when Harry caught sight of him. He’d always wondered what it would be like to be friends with Harry. The Golden Trio had seemed to have so much fun together, when they weren’t fighting for their lives, which had only added to Draco’s resentment of them at school. His friends never mucked about jokingly, making fun of each other was only done in an effort to claim status, never tease fondly. And now, here he was, in possession of Harry’s full attention, in a good way. 

Realising he hadn’t been listening, Draco tuned back in just as Harry was saying “... Quidditch match. But we could go flying if you want? It’s a great way to see the area.”

“Now  _ that _ might just be the best idea you’ve ever had. It’s been ages since I got to fly. What brooms do you have? Anything decent?”

“Well, I’ve got my  _ Firebolt _ , and I’m fairly sure there’s a  _ Cleansweep _ around here somewhere that’s decent.”

“Why do you have so many?”

“Oh, these?” Harry looked down at the brooms he was holding. “I tend to pick them up at junk sales and the like. It’s pretty easy to fix them up so they’re in working order again, then I donate them to kids that can’t afford one. Professor McGonagall helps me identify kids that might benefit.”

“In your spare time you repair brooms and donate them to needy children? Merlin, Potter, you really do live up to your reputation.” Draco rolled his eyes in an exaggerated fashion at this, to let Harry know he was joking. But it was such a  _ Harry _ thing to do. Always the hero. “Where’s this  _ Cleansweep _ then?”

“Oh, in the stall.” Harry indicated behind him, to the stall he’d just come out from. “Let me put these down and I’ll find it for you. It’s a little like organised chaos in there.”

Harry wasn’t wrong. Draco was astounded when he looked inside the stall and saw what had to be over a hundred brooms of various shapes and sizes piled up on top of each other, stacked haphazardly and leaning up against the walls.

“Chaos is right. Rather you than me.” Draco moved to the side as Harry came back in and somehow identified the broom he was after.

“Here you go.” Harry handed it to Draco, who looked it over and pronounced himself satisfied. 

Draco waited while Harry fetched his  _ Firebolt _ from inside the house, as well as a coat and two pairs of gloves, then the two of them set off. Draco relished the sensation of soaring through the air, wind rushing past his face, the ground far below him, and it wasn’t long before he challenged Harry to a race. He didn’t harbour any hopes of actually winning, since he was on a borrowed broom of lesser quality than Harry’s, but it was a fantastic feeling to be flying against Harry again, even without a Snitch to chase.

“We should have done this years ago!” Draco shouted out to Harry as he managed to use the slipstream to almost catch up, before yelling out in frustration when all he received was a look over the shoulder before Harry accelerated away again.

A few minutes later, Harry had pulled up and landed to wait for Draco, obnoxiously celebrating his victory as the blond landed and stepped off his broom. “I win, Malfoy! Victory is mine!” 

“Yes, thank you, Potter. No need to rub it in.” Draco sniffed, not really hurt, but also not willing to feed Harry’s obvious glee. Instead he turned to look around at the scenery and held his breath once he saw the vista in front of him, having been too focused on the chase to look around properly while they were in the air. They’d stopped at the edge of a loch, completely isolated, mountains and hills soaring all around and Draco held himself still for a few moments, just taking it in. He felt, rather than saw, Harry step alongside him, neither of them feeling the need to break the silence that had descended.

Their hands were almost touching by their sides and Draco was resisting the urge to reach out and take hold of Harry’s hand, when Harry did just the thing he’d been stopping himself from doing. It wasn’t a firm grasp, but their fingers seemed to naturally lace themselves together, both wanting and needing that small point of connection between them as they took in the majesty of the landscape.

“It’s fantastic.” The words escaped before Draco could stop them, and he felt an answering squeeze on his fingers.

“I know.”

Not long after, Harry let go of Draco’s hand and moved away, picking up both brooms and handing Draco his. “Come on, it looks even better from up there.” Harry pointed straight above himself and didn’t wait for Draco to mount before he was soaring away.

***

They were both ravenous by the time they returned to Dragon Farm, exhausted by the hours they’d spent flying round the area, interspersed with occasional stops on  _ terra firma _ at Harry’s favourite spots. Draco was absolutely sold on the natural beauty of the area, something he’d never taken the time to appreciate when he was at school, and completely understood why Harry had chosen to live here. He thought that perhaps, once he got back to London, he might look into finding himself a place up here, so that he could come and go when he pleased, when he needed to get away from the hustle and bustle of life in the city.

As they walked into the kitchen, Harry said wistfully, “It’s times like this I wish I had a house elf. I’m too tired to start cooking a full-blown meal right now. What do you think? We could drive down to the pub in the village if you can face a short trip in the Land Rover?”

“I don’t know how you can bear to be cut off like this. No house elf, no floo…”

“Most of the time it’s fine. And you get used to it. I told you I like cooking.”

“I’m not sure I could handle rusticating like this for more than a short while. But I’m starving, and I get the impression nothing will be forthcoming by us just standing here, so I suppose I’ll tolerate a trip in your contraption, if there’s food as a reward.”

“Great. I’m going to grab a shower before we go.” Harry turned and headed up the stairs. Draco followed. 

“Good idea, I’ll do the same. Half an hour?”

“Sure.”

Harry took himself into the separate bathroom while Draco continued on into the main bedroom. A short while later, having showered, styled his hair and dressed in a fresh pair of trousers and a dark grey shirt that was a particular favourite of his, Draco left his room to go back downstairs. He was passing the bathroom door when it opened and a large cloud of steam flew out. His first thought was that his hair would be ruined, but that rapidly flew out of his brain when Harry appeared out of the steam, carrying his clothes and wearing nothing but a towel round his waist and humming to himself, clearly not paying attention.

“Um…” Draco felt suddenly like he was intruding in Harry’s home rather than being there on holiday, even though the timing had been completely accidental (and to be honest, it was his fault, since he’d stolen Harry’s bedroom, but  _ really _ this was exactly the thing he’d been worried about with the bathroom being separated from the bedroom, and he would rather this way round than the other).

At Draco’s hum, Harry looked up with an “Oh!”, and a blush rapidly spread over his cheeks and down his neck. Draco tried to resist glancing down but couldn’t, and, although most of Harry’s torso was covered by the clothes he was carrying, he very much appreciated the view. There was a light sprinkling of hair on Harry’s upper chest, but not too much (Draco couldn’t stand hairy men). His arms were toned, which Draco already knew, but it was nice to have confirmation, and lightly muscled. His skin was nowhere near as pale as Draco’s but neither was there a visible tan line anywhere. Harry clearly didn’t chase the sun. Draco found his attention particularly drawn to a small sprinkling of freckles across Harry’s left collar bone, and felt the urge to reach out and stroke them, as if to see if they were really there. His was about to reach up but Harry stepped away and headed for the stairs up to the attic, oblivious to the temptation he was providing Draco, who clenched his fist as his hand instead stayed at his side.

“I’m sorry! I took… longer… in the shower than I meant to.” There was a slight hesitation to Harry’s words that puzzled Draco at first, but at the increasing flush across Harry’s face, he quickly figured out what Harry’s must have been doing to delay him.

“Oh. Oh!” Draco felt a hugely inappropriate desire to giggle. They were both grown men after all, and it was only to be expected. There was no need to be embarrassed. “Well, I’ll just wait downstairs for you to, er, recover.” And with a wink he left Harry standing at the bottom of the stairs, pleased that he’d got the upper hand out of that exchange. 

Harry, meanwhile, rushed up to the attic and quickly dried himself off and dressed in his best jeans, a black t-shirt, and blue and green check shirt, hoping he wouldn’t look too scruffy next to Draco. He was fairly mortified about the encounter just now and the assumption Draco had clearly made about what had delayed him. Not that he was wrong, but it was so much worse than even he knew. Harry had been half-hard all afternoon watching Draco fly, racing him, seeing Draco enjoy himself so much, and had needed to relieve the tension if he was going to spend another evening with the blond. It was getting harder to resist just pushing Draco up against the nearest wall and kissing him, but Harry was determined to behave as nothing more than a friend. Draco would be leaving at the end of the week and that would be it, they would remain acquaintances, perhaps running into each other now and again, but nothing more.

With a final look at himself in the mirror, Harry shrugged his shoulders. He would do. The pub wasn’t exactly a high-end restaurant and they’d appear more out of place dressed up than not. It was going to be interesting enough taking Draco out into the muggle world as it was, without attracting attention with their appearance. 

Downstairs, Harry collected his coat from the hook on the kitchen wall, and grabbed Draco’s coat before heading into the living room. It didn’t even occur to him anymore to notice that it felt completely familiar for both their coats to be hanging side-by-side in what was one of Harry’s supposedly ‘private’ areas of the house, so accustomed had he become to Draco’s presence in just a couple of days. Those sorts of boundaries had broken down almost before Harry had erected them, thanks to Draco’s assumption of privileges immediately upon arrival. 

Harry found Draco lounging in ‘his’ chair and threw the coat over his lap with a quick, “Come on,” before heading out to the car. You could tell it was Autumn. The temperature had dropped significantly now that the sun had gone down, and it hadn’t been that warm to begin with. Getting in the car and unlocking the passenger door, Harry rubbed his hands together, blowing in them to add some warmth while he watched Draco come out the house and climb in the other side. Suddenly a burst of warmth spread over his fingers and he turned to look at his companion who was laughing at Harry once again forgetting he didn’t have to deal with things the muggle way.

“Honestly Harry, how many times? You’re a wizard. Take advantage.” Harry flushed a little at Draco’s words, wishing he was brave enough to truly follow through on the suggestion. Instead he instructed Draco to ‘belt up’ and turned the key. The engine sprung to life, and they set off down the track to the main road.

***

Not unexpectedly for a pub on a Wednesday night in October, in a small Scottish village, the Bonnie Prince Charlie was practically empty, but inviting, with a real log fire burning in the big fireplace and, in the dining area where Harry directed Draco as they entered, tables set for dinner. Michael, the landlord, was behind the bar, and nodded to Harry as he passed, recognising him from the occasional lunches he ate there if he was down in the village.

A young waitress, Becky, according to her name badge, told Harry they could sit where they wanted and they took a table in a small nook in the corner. Becky soon followed with menus and asked if they’d like anything to drink.

Draco was quick to reply, “I’ll have a glass of your best local whisky.”

“No wine?” Harry was surprised.

“I’m sampling the local specialty, Potter. Probably too refined for your tastebuds.”

Harry laughed to himself. “The same for me, then,” he said to the waitress.

“Coming right up.” The waitress put her pad away, and just before she left them said, “I’ll fetch you a nice candle for the table too. More romantic.”

“Did she just…?” Looking alarmed at Draco, Harry couldn’t even finish the question before she was back, placing a small candle in a glass jar between him and Draco.

“There you go. Are you gents on holiday? We don’t get many people up here in October.” 

Looking up, Harry began to correct her, “Oh no, we’re not…” but suddenly Draco interrupted him.

“We’re not on holiday.” Harry flinched a little as Draco reached an arm across the table and took Harry’s hand that wasn’t holding his menu. “That is, Harry here is moving to the area and I’ve come to visit, to see if I might like it up here too.”

Harry blinked in confusion. “Oh, lovely,” the waitress said. “I hope you like it then, it’s a bit quiet for some people but we get along very well. I’ll be back in a few with your drinks and to take your order.”

As she walked away, Harry leaned forwards over the table and hissed at Draco, “What are you doing?”

“Playing along, Potter.” Draco was completely calm as he answered Harry. “No need to start explaining our situation in detail to strangers. Far easier to let them assume we’re a couple out for a meal. No harm done.”

“No harm done!” Harry shook his head. “I’ve got to live round here! What am I going to say when you never show your face here again! I’ll be asking questions about where my blond-haired boyfriend disappeared to for the next six months!”

“Stop being so dramatic. I’ve given you the perfect out.” Draco withdrew his hand from where Harry had started gripping it firmly and calmly opened his menu, scanning the options. “I said I was visiting to see if I’d like it here. All you have to say is that I decided to stay in London.”

After a short pause, he flicked his eyes up at Harry. “I note you’re not protesting the idea that I might be your boyfriend. Switch teams, did we?”

Harry slumped back in his chair and ran a hand through his hair. He hadn’t intended to start their meal with either a row or his coming out to Draco, and yet here they were. 

“I didn’t ‘switch teams’. I’m bisexual, if you must know.”

“And here I was thinking we might finally have something in common.”

“You don’t think we have anything in common?” Harry was dismayed. After the past couple of days, he was disappointed that Draco still felt fundamentally opposed to Harry.

Before Draco could answer, Becky returned, with two tumblers of deep, amber-coloured whisky on a tray. “Here you go, gentlemen. From the McTaggart distillery, just five miles down the road, their finest malt. Now, what can I get you to eat?”

From Draco’s smile, you would never have known that he’d been essentially rowing with Harry not one minute ago. “I’ll have the scallops to start, then the chicken stuffed with haggis. Thanks.”

Smoothly Draco handed his menu back, and looked to Harry who quickly asked for the same, feeling awkward and unenthused about the rest of the evening. Becky picked Harry’s menu up and walked away, assuring them she was just in the other room if they needed anything.

Harry looked down and studied his hands, which were held together in his lap, not sure what to say from here.

“Well, this is going great, don’t you think?” At the familiar, sarcastic tone, Harry looked up. Draco was leaning on one elbow, his chin in his hand, swirling his whisky with the other. “I didn’t mean it, it was a joke. You do know what one of those is, don’t you?”

“Right.” Harry couldn’t quite muster any enthusiasm in his reply, feeling like maybe it wasn’t quite the joke that Draco insisted.

“Buck up, Harry. We’re supposed to be on a date. They’re going to think you’re breaking up with me. How about if I…”

Draco stopped talking and suddenly scooted around the table so he was sat in the chair next to Harry, rather than opposite him. And then,  _ then _ , his hand was on Harry’s thigh and he was leaning in to whisper in Harry’s ear. “Here, this will set the scene. Imagine I’m whispering about all the filthy things we’ll be doing later.”

Unfortunately, Draco telling Harry to imagine him whispering such things caused Harry to actually imagine those things and his trousers became suddenly much tighter. Harry’s hand landed firmly on top of Draco’s on his thigh to prevent any movement higher.

“Umm…” Harry couldn’t quite formulate a thought, befuddled by what was happening right now. He glanced around the room, but they were the only patrons. There was nobody else to witness Draco’s advance, and Harry had to wonder how exactly this was helping their case.

“What’s the matter Potter? You’re blushing.” Harry shivered, feeling Draco’s breath on his skin.

“What are you doing?” Harry didn’t dare move. He didn’t know if he wanted Draco to stop or carry on.

“Showing you we have things in common.”

“We…” Flustered, Harry had barely begun formulating a reply before the warmth of Draco’s hand left his leg and he returned to his original seat. A wholesale change came over his face, from the intensely focused-on-Harry look of a moment before, to a much more placid, congenial face. Harry only had a second to wonder what the cause was before he realised that Becky had returned with their starters.

The evening continued in this vein. Every time Harry managed to get his equilibrium back, while they were eating, or while someone else was in the room, Draco would go and do something to throw him off again. He joked about their relationship with their waitress; he reached over the table to hold hands; on his way back from the bathroom, he brushed Harry’s shoulder with his hand as he passed, almost affectionately. Finally, while they were waiting for their plates to be removed after their (delicious) main course, Harry felt a shoeless foot brush up against his leg, sneaking up his trouser leg to brush against his skin. The first time this happened, Harry’s reflexes kicked in and he snatched his legs back under his chair, only for Draco to raise an eyebrow and ask “Something wrong, Harry?”

“No, nothing. Just thought I felt something on my leg. Must have been imagining it though.”

“Oh, I’m sure you weren’t.” 

At Draco’s reply, Harry narrowed his eyes across the table, suspicion falling on his companion. All he received in reply was another of those infuriating smirks that had plagued his life at school, and continued to do so now, although the reaction it provoked now was considerably different.

“Do you want dessert?” Draco asked, running his index finger across the surface of the table cloth in a distracting fashion.

“I think best not.” Harry wanted to be home, somewhere familiar.

“Alright.” Draco lifted his hand in the universal signal asking for their bill, and Harry wondered where he had learned such a muggle custom, and more importantly, exactly when he’d lost control of the evening. Draco was very much managing everything, he had been since they’d ordered drinks, and Harry wasn’t sure how to go about putting things back on an even keel.

Of course, one thing Draco wasn’t capable of doing himself was paying for the meal, being without any muggle money, so Harry was the one to pull out his wallet and place cash on the table after Becky brought over the bill, on a small plate with a couple of mints. Draco picked one of them up curiously, “Do muggle restaurants always assume their customers have bad breath after eating their food? How very odd?”

Next Draco picked up the £10 note Harry had put down, rubbing it between his index finger and thumb and holding it up to the light.

“Stop it!” Harry grabbed the money and put it back on the table. “We’re supposed to be muggles, you’re acting as if you’ve never seen money before!”

“Not muggle money.” Draco stood and took his coat down from the hatstand near their table. Harry joined him to do the same. As they turned to walk out, Harry stopped in his tracks as Draco hooked an arm through Harry’s and snuggled up to him.

“What?”

“Romantic meal, remember, Potter?” Draco started walking towards the exit and Harry had no choice but to follow, or be dragged along beside him.

***

Draco had to let go long enough for Harry to drive them home, but he was enjoying himself far too much to let the evening end once they arrived home. He followed Harry into the house once they arrived back and made sure to noticeably brush his hand across his lower back as he passed him, enjoying the increase in tension he felt coming from Harry as he did, and went into the living room, casting a low-level  _ Lumos _ and going straight for the cabinet for two tumblers, before grabbing the bottle of firewhisky that was on the lower shelf. 

“Drink?” Draco asked as he poured a generous amount into each glass, then toeing off his shoes near the fireplace.

Harry slowly wandered in after Draco, still carrying his coat, which he’d taken off as soon as they’d got back. Draco took a sip from his glass, and smiled to himself. He was almost acting more at home than Harry was. He encouraged Harry forwards by holding out the second glass to him and waving it around a little, almost like he was gesturing at a reluctant animal, trying to coax it to him.

Harry’s reply was slow in coming, but positive when it did finally arrive. “Sure, ok.”

Harry dropped his coat over the back of the sofa and, after what seemed like an age, finally came close enough to take the proffered drink. 

“Cheers, then,” Draco clinked his glass against Harry’s before taking a drink, watching as Harru did the same. He moved to take a seat on the sofa, leaning back and crossing his legs. Harry was still standing in the same spot, though he’d rotated to follow Draco’s progress round the room.

“That was a nice place, for an establishment run by muggles.” Draco had truly enjoyed his meal, which had been delicious, and silently wondered if he should explore muggle cuisine a little further once he got home. “Lovely and quiet too.”

“Well, it’s not exactly a tourist hotspot round here.”

“Okay, then I have a question for you. And forgive me if it’s obvious.”

Harry smiled as if he already knew what was coming. “Go on, then.”

“Why have you opened a guesthouse somewhere that doesn’t attract tourists?”

Harry didn’t respond. Instead, he took another sip of firewhisky and moved to sit in the other corner of the sofa, turning sideways with one knee bent and an arm along the back of the cushion, looking down at the glass in his hands as if the answer would come to him out of the amber liquid.

“Well? Harry? You know, tenacity is one of my better qualities. And stubbornness. I’m very stubborn. I’ll just make you sit here until you reply.” Draco was honestly curious as to  _ why this _ . He could see the appeal of the location, but everything he knew about business suggested that this was not likely to be a going concern. Harry was more likely to lose money than not, so Draco dismissed ‘earning a living’ as a likely motivation.

Harry looked up and looked straight at Draco. He suddenly looked very serious, taking a deep breath before he spoke.

“So, how about them Kestrals?”

“Harry!” Draco had to laugh as the tension that had gathered in him waiting for Harry’s answer was released. “Come on, seriously though.” He brought both feet up onto the cushion, leaning back against the sofa arm at a ninety degree angle, and nudged Harry’s knee with his toes, before snuggling them under Harry’s leg to keep them warm. “It’s not because of some terrible secret, is it?”

“No, it’s not even interesting.”

“Try me.”

Harry downed the rest of his drink and put the glass down on the side table next to him.

“I’m lucky. I’m incredibly lucky. I have everything I need, good friends, a roof over my head… but I wanted somewhere where I didn’t have to be ‘Harry Potter’,” Harry backed this up with air quotes as he said his name. “Everywhere I go, people look at me. And here, they don’t. That’s the most basic reason.”

“So why not just live here, why open a guesthouse?”

“Well, I’m fairly sure I’m not the only one who needs a place to get away.” Harry cocked his head to the side and looked deliberately at Draco. “As long as the contract is solid enough, my location is safe, so I don’t need to worry about reporters and the like. And since I won’t accept stays shorter than Monday to Friday, you have to be a certain type of person to want to stay in the middle of nowhere for that length of time.”

“Ah, I’m a ‘certain type’, am I?” Draco raised an eyebrow at this description, teasing Harry gently.

“I have to admit that you being my first guest was a bit of a surprise. But honestly, when I think about it, it makes sense. I can see why you might want to get away, you’ve had similar attention to me from the  _ Prophet _ . Especially since  _ Spider’s Web  _ came out.”

At mention of Draco’s book, Harry cheeks flushed, obviously remembering what had happened earlier in the week.

Both men fell quiet, but it was comfortable, lost in their own thoughts. A short time later the silence that had descended was broken by the chime of the old grandfather clock that Harry had bought and put in the living room. The intrusion broke whatever charm had been placed on the evening and made Harry glance at his watch.

“Gosh, it’s late. I didn’t realise. I should get to bed, or I’ll never be up to make breakfast in the morning.”

Draco echoed Harry’s movement as he got to his feet, but caught Harry’s elbow as he began to move away.

“Wait a moment.”

Harry turned back quizzically, wondering what Draco wanted. Draco let his hand skim down Harry’s arm, from his elbow to his hand, holding on loosely for a second then gently tugging the other man towards him. His other hand came up to Harry’s waist, resting just above where his trousers met his shirt.

“I just want to…” Draco let his thought trail off mid-sentence, then began again: “Is it ok if I…?”

Anticipation coursed through him as he slowly moved closer, until his face was just centimetres from Harry’s, and he could feel Harry’s breath ghosting across his lips. He held still, hoping for some sign of agreement or acknowledgement but thought he was going to be denied until he let out a last pleading whisper of “Harry.”

Hearing his name seemed to spur Harry into action. A hand came up and caught hold of the front of Draco’s shirt and tugged him forwards, almost immediately their lips met and Draco sank into the kiss, closing his eyes and tilting his head to allow better access. It was even better than he imagined. He pushed both hands back round Harry’s waist to reach the small of his back, bringing him closer, so they were in contact from chest to waist. Harry’s hands caught hold of Draco’s cheeks and held him gently, before gradually he pulled away, holding for a moment just before their lips parted, and not fully moving back even after contact was lost

Draco kept his eyes shut, wanting to preserve the memory of this moment properly, and when he did open them, it was to look straight into a pair of steady green eyes, behind round lenses. Sure that if he said anything, he would put his foot in it, he stepped backwards and held Harry’s gaze for a pause, before he turned and left the room, walking quickly and quietly up the stairs and into his (Harry’s) room, where he proceeded to fall backwards onto the mattress and stare at the ceiling for a good while, reliving the Kiss.

He was surprised at himself. Perhaps it had just been the fun of the evening, flirting with Harry, just to unsettle him at first, but enjoying it a little too much for it to be pretend. And then listening to Harry talk about opening Dragon Farm after they got back, he’d been caught up in the man his former rival had grown up into. Everything he’d learned about him in the past few days had coalesced into an impression of someone who really was  _ good _ . Draco didn’t have enough goodness in his life and maybe it was something he could,  _ should _ , make room for.

***

Downstairs, Harry was still trying to process the last five minutes. He was sure he hadn’t had  _ that  _ much to drink as to cause hallucinations. But it was either that or  _ Draco Malfoy just kissed him _ . And it had been good. Really good. Better than good. So good, in fact, that all Harry wanted to do right now was follow Draco upstairs and kiss him again. But perhaps that was Harry thinking with something other than his brain. After all, Draco hadn’t invited him upstairs, and whatever this was, it felt so new and fragile that one wrong move might shatter it irrevocably.

Gathering up the two empty glasses in one hand, he cast a wandless  _ Nox _ and, picking up his coat as he went past, headed for the kitchen. Once there, he left the tumblers on the side and headed out the back door, shrugging back into his coat. He wandered down the path that ran down the middle of the small garden, gravel crunching beneath his feet, to the fence at the back, where he turned and leaned, looking back up at the house. The old fence creaked slightly as he put his weight against it, but held firm. He could see a faint shadow moving around at the upstairs windows of his – Draco’s – bedroom, where the lights were on but only the net curtain blocked the view, the heavy curtains not drawn yet. The rest of the surrounding area was in shadow, light otherwise only coming forth from the moon, far above, which only made the draw Harry felt towards that room stronger.

He needed to figure out what he wanted. Clearly he had an opportunity here for  _ something _ . That much was obvious. But what did Draco want? A couple of nights of attachment-less fun before he went home? That sort of thing had never been Harry’s style. It had, however, been a significant amount of time since he had any sort of intimacy with anyone and part of him longed for that feeling of closeness, even if it was just for a fling. He enjoyed the feeling of cuddling up to someone, of waking up and savouring the presence of another person in bed with him, as much as he enjoyed the act of sex itself. Maybe more. Sex had never been a priority for him, not when it wasn’t part of a larger whole, and his position had made in incredibly difficult to trust new people enough to let them close. After Ginny and he broke up, he’d had a series of short-term relationships, but more than once he’d had his heart broken by a partner he’d opened up to betraying his trust, unable to resist the temptation of publicity (and cash windfall) that came with selling the story, before he had learned his lesson about who he let close to him.

Not that Harry thought Draco would do that. He had almost as much to lose as Harry did, so perhaps he was the safest choice in the world. And Harry was certain that sex would not lack for passion between them. Just the memory of Draco’s lips on his own, and his hands, so frustratingly separated from his skin thanks to the cotton of his shirt, brought a shiver of arousal back. Compatibility in the bedroom would not be their problem.

The temperature outside was gradually dropping and Harry plunged his hands into his coat pockets, not wanting to return inside until he’d cleared his head. He looked down as he kicked his feet a little, scuffing at the ground, as if waiting for something. His warm breath was now misting in the air. He really should cast a warming charm, but Harry didn’t like the way they dampened his experience of the environment around him. When he looked back up again, it was to see the net curtain at the right-hand window falling back into place, where it had been pulled back. Draco. He must have seen Harry stood out here.

Since he couldn’t stand outside all night, Harry decided he had brooded enough and headed back inside. He shrugged off his coat and hung it on the back of the kitchen door, then headed towards the stairs on auto-pilot through the dark house. He nearly jumped out of skin and lost the air in his lungs when all of a sudden a large shape loomed towards him in the hallway, before it resolved into Draco and he started breathing again.

“What are you doing! You nearly frightened the life out of me!”

It was hard to make out Draco’s face fully in the darkness, but from what Harry was able to see he at least had the courtesy to appear chagrined at the shock he’d caused.

“Sorry. You might not believe it, but my intention wasn’t to scare you,” Draco sounded conciliatory. “I saw you outside, I was coming to join you. I may have been a little… hasty… in departing earlier. Didn’t really… think things through. I don’t want you to think that I was running away fr...”

“I didn’t,” Harry responded before Draco was able to finish his thought.

“Oh, good. That’s good.” The darkness was making it harder for Harry to interpret Draco’s tone, without the assistance of seeing his expression to give a hint as to his inner thoughts. Harry stepped closer, Draco’s face resolving more as he moved towards him. What light there was reflected off the fine, blond strands of Draco’s hair, which looked almost silver in the moonlight. For once Harry didn’t resist the impulse, and reached out to brush the strands back off Draco’s forehead, then continuing to run his fingers through to the back of Draco’s head before it settled on the back of his neck.

“Huh.”

“What, Potter?” Harry smiled to himself at Draco’s use of his last name, even though his tone was soft.

“It’s softer than I thought. Your hair.” As Harry spoke, he realised that at some point Draco’s hand had crept up and was now clutching the lower part of his shirt. He willingly followed the gentle tug and stepped closer, now just a whisper away from Draco, their noses almost touching.

Draco began saying something about his ‘careful hair routine’ and how Harry should follow his lead someday to try and tame his unruly mop, but in all honesty, Harry had stopped listening properly. His gaze was focused purely on watching Draco’s lips as they moved, and the occasional glimpses of tongue he could see behind them.

“Mmm. I’m sure,” Harry murmured.

“Are you even listening to me?”

“Not really.” Harry had had enough of talking. He used the hand still on the back of Draco’s neck to pull the other man to him, their lips meeting at last. Harry didn’t let it overwhelm him though. As much as that would have been easy, he held himself back, kept control, though the tide of desire he felt battered like a storm against his walls. As their lips parted for the first time, he started to walk Draco backwards towards the bottom of the stairs, peppering his lips, chin and neck with soft kisses as he went.

“I think.”  _ Kiss.  _  “We.”  _ Kiss. _ “Should move.”  _ Kiss. _ “This upstairs.”  _ Kiss _ . 

Letting Draco go for a moment as they reached the end of the bannister, Harry grabbed Draco’s hand and started walking up to the landing, trusting Draco would follow. He interlaced their fingers, enjoying the softness of Draco’s fingers, and wondering whether the his skin everywhere was as smooth. He imagined it was. He couldn’t wait to find out. The silence from behind him didn’t worry him. Draco was more than capable of fending Harry off if this wasn’t what he wanted, and with darkness surrounding them as they moved up the stairs, it was more arousing that Draco was holding his tongue, when usually he was the more vocal of the two of them.

It was a new experience for Harry, taking the role of aggressor. With his few previous partners he had played more of a passive role and it was a heady feeling to be driving events. He didn’t quite break into a run along the landing, dragging Draco behind him, but it wasn’t far off at the speed he walked. The bedroom door was open, Draco having left it like that on his way downstairs, and a low light was on. Coming through the doorway, Harry swung his arm around to bring Draco to his front, before walking himself backwards and closing the door with his body so that it shut with a firm ‘click’.

***

Draco watched Harry, and tried not to give in to the growing need to adjust his trousers. So far everything had been unexpectedly… sweet, if he had to label it. He wanted to let Harry lead. For all his fame, there was something surprisingly naive about how Harry had behaved with Draco so far. As if he were shy of crossing some invisible line. Perhaps it was the line that would irrevocably take them from friends (if they could be described as such…) to  _ more _ . Innocent kisses could be assimilated, glossed over in mutual acknowledgement if they did see each other again, without being openly discussed, but  _ more _ would change things, and there’d be no pretending it didn’t happen. 

There was an intensity to Harry’s gaze that had Draco feeling like he might just do anything the other man asked. He could suddenly see that beneath the affable surface, there was the hero that had defeated Voldemort when he was little more than a child. That Harry kept this part of him concealed for the vast majority of the time did little to dampen Draco’s excitement. Indeed, the prospect of seeing a different side to Harry stoked the flames of desire that were already burning.

“You have no idea what I want to do to you,” Harry’s voice was near a growl. He made no effort to raise the volume. Draco found himself backing away as Harry slowly walked forwards, until finally his knees hit the edge of the bed and he had to make a decision between remaining upright and sitting back. Not willing to cave completely, he stayed standing. Harry paused for a moment in his approach before closing the gap and leaning in to whisper in Draco’s ear.

“This isn’t going to be quick. I’m going to take my time.” As Harry spoke, his lips just barely brushing against Draco’s skin, his hands came up and started to unbutton Draco’s shirt, fingers brushing teasingly against the bare skin revealed. “I’m going to make you beg, and then when you can’t say anything except my name, when you can’t think of anything except us, here in this bed, that’s when I’ll give you what you want.”

Draco drew in a shuddering breath, desperate to turn his head and claim Harry’s lips. His skin everywhere was straining to be touched, but Harry continued just to tease as he drew the sides of Draco’s shirt apart, then moved his hands down to Draco’s hips, pulling him forwards a little until their cocks met through their still fastened trousers. The barrier only added to Draco’s frustration.

“What do you want, Draco?” At Harry’s question, Draco closed his eyes and no longer resisted the temptation to taste the skin of Harry’s neck, which was so close. He slowly kissed a path from just beneath Harry’s jaw, down the side towards his shoulder, bringing his own hands up to start unbuttoning Harry’s shirt.

“Tell me.” Harry’s next utterance was no longer a question but a command. Draco lifted his head as if in a daze and Harry pulled back to look him right in the eye. 

“I want you to fuck me.”

As if Draco finally saying it had burst a dam, Harry let out a hissed “ _ Yes _ ,” then took Draco’s mouth in a searing kiss. His hands seemed to be everywhere and Draco was helpless to do anything except respond. He near scrabbled at the front of Harry’s shirt to finish undoing the buttons, before pulling it apart in frustration when he didn’t succeed fast enough. All the while their mouths were joined, tasting each other, and trying to get closer, until eventually they had to break apart, gasping. The respite didn’t last long. Harry pushed Draco back so he fell onto the bed and crawled after him. Draco scrambled up until his head was on the pillow and enjoyed the sight of a disheveled Harry Potter coming up towards him with only one intention in mind. Harry came to a stop on his side next to Draco, head propped up on one elbow, watching him. He showed no immediate signs of touching Draco any further though, and frankly, this was unacceptable.

“Come on, Potter. Don’t leave me hang- _ innng! _ ” The end of Draco’s protestation was drawn out as Harry, perhaps reacting to the provocation, perhaps finally deciding what he wanted to do, curled a hand firmly around Draco’s cock and began to massage the firm flesh. Draco let out a groan and arched upwards into the contact. 

“Stop thinking so much,” Harry said. “You’re always thinking.”

“It’s kind of a tough habit to break,” Draco responded breathily, not entirely paying attention since Harry was now undoing his trousers and sneaking his hand inside them to –  _ finally  _ – take hold of Draco’s cock, skin to skin. “ _ Harry… _ ” Draco breathed out on a sigh. After that, he was reduced to mere sighs and moans, no more words for a while except for once when he let out an “Oh, Merlin,” when Harry replaced his hand with his mouth. Draco thought he might expire from the sight of Harry’s lips stretched around him, taking him as deep as possible. Just when he thought things couldn’t get any better, Harry’s left arm came up to play with his nipple, and his other gripped Draco’s thigh, fingers on the inside of his leg, close to where Draco wanted them most.

Draco plunged his hands into the mop of messy black hair and tugged a little, testing to see how Harry would respond. He didn’t know whether he wanted to push Harry down or pull him off. Instead of doing either, in response to Draco’s grip, Harry moaned around Draco’s cock, which only served to increase the sensations which were threatening to overwhelm him. Draco realised that if this continued, he wouldn’t last much longer and he definitely didn’t want it to be over.

“Harry… Harry, stop! I can’t…”

Harry pulled off with one last suck to the tip, and looked up at Draco with a confident grin. Quick as the Seeker that he was, he moved up Draco’s body to thoroughly kiss him, tongue exploring and tasting. Draco reached down and grabbed Harry’s arse. It was a particularly fine one and Draco decided it was a shame it was still covered and made fixing that his immediate priority. Harry had, at some point, kicked off his shoes, so Draco went straight for his flies, letting out a moan as this brought his hands into contact with Harry’s very erect cock. Harry responded immediately to the touch and began to work his way down Draco’s neck, paying particular attention to one spot that Draco was sure would sport a bruise come morning.

“Hurry,” Harry gasped.

“I thought you wanted this to last?” Draco asked, plunging one hand down to start stroking Harry in a steady rhythm.

“Changed my mind.”

Harry returned to give Draco another blazing kiss, halting further conversation. He pushed Draco’s trousers fully down and began to reciprocate Draco’s touch, echoing his rhythm, balancing on his other elbow so as to allow access.  Draco opened his legs wider to allow Harry to slot in between, bringing their crotches closer together. He knocked Harry’s hand aside momentarily to take hold of them both in his grip, and Harry quickly cottoned on and added his hand. It wasn't long before they were both gasping into each other’s mouths, cocks rubbing against each other.

A sublime tension was building within Draco and he was soon on edge.

“Come for me, Harry,” and as if Harry had been waiting for permission, Draco felt his immediate response. Warmth flooded over his hand and he heard a deep groan of release. It was this that finally triggered his own orgasm, mixing their come together on sticky hands. Draco continued to stroke Harry's cock slowly through the aftershocks until finally Harry collapsed down on top of him with a satisfied hum.

Draco allowed him a few minutes before he pushed him off to the side with a grumbled “Heavy.” Lethargy was setting in for them both and he wanted to get clean and out of his clothes before he gave in. He poked at Harry side and said “Come on, shower, then sleep.” 

Harry opened a single eye and grabbed Draco’s hand to keep him where he was, before pulling him back in for another kiss, then before Draco could formulate a response he was disappearing into the bathroom, shedding his shirt on the way and calling back “Last one in has to wash the other’s back.”

Ever competitive, despite having no chance to win, Draco did not waste any time chasing after him.

***

Harry had been enjoying a very pleasant dream and floated up to wakefulness with a sense of regret, wanting to cling on to the sense of security and comfort he’d had for as long as possible. He could tell the room was in full darkness without opening his eyes, which meant it was still early – even with the curtains pulled shut  _ some _ light crept around the edges – and he was warm and comfortable under his heavy duvet and didn’t want to move. But as he became more aware, he realised that he could feel an arm draped securely, though not tightly, across his middle, and that his back was definitely warmer than it would have been with just his duvet to keep in the warmth. In a rush of heat, memories rushed unbidden of the previous night and exactly who it was sharing his bed.  _ Draco _ .

Careful not to tense, or move too quickly and to disturb the other man, Harry turned over to lie on his right side and opened his eyes. At this distance he was close enough not to need his glasses. Draco was still sleeping, soft snuffles coming from him in response to whatever flights of fancy were running through his mind. Harry felt his heart swell at the sight of the usually perfectly-put-together blond with sleep-mussed hair, snuggled down beneath a duvet as if it were a cocoon. Oh, this wasn’t good. He wasn’t supposed to get attached. Draco was leaving soon and he needed to let him go without a fuss. There had been no conversation between them about what any of this meant but Harry was pretty confident Draco would be keen to return to his London life as scheduled, and Harry had no intention of stopping him, as much as he would like to explore this undeniable connection between them.

Concluding that it might be better if he wasn’t there when Draco awoke, he reached down and gently lifted the arm draped over his waist and brought it down between the two of them. Sliding backwards, he turned and lifted the duvet away, bringing it back down behind him before too much warm air escaped. Goosebumps quickly arose on his skin and he shivered. It felt particularly cold, the air crisp and sharp, making Harry want to dive back into the space he had just vacated and curl up for more sleep. Hanging his head regretfully for a moment, he pushed up, picked up his glasses and wand from the bedside table, and went over to the chest of drawers where he quietly pulled out a pair of flannel pyjama bottoms, one of Mrs Weasley’s warmest jumpers and thick socks. His feet were particularly grateful when he pulled them on. He gathered up his clothes which were strewn down the side of the bed and turned to look once more at the bed, making sure the sight was firmly planted in his memory. After that was done, he had reached the door when a sleepy mumble stopped him.

“Where are you going? What time is it?”

Draco’s voice was muffled by the fact that he was still curled under the duvet and Harry’s voice was gentle when he replied, not wanting to jolt Draco fully awake.

“It’s still early. Go back to sleep.”

“Mmm. Don’t go far.” 

Harry’s heart cracked a little at that. He couldn’t be entirely sure Draco knew who he was talking to, only that his warm cocoon had been disturbed.

Slipping out onto the landing, Harry pulled the door shut behind him and wandered downstairs. In the living room he got the fire going with a quick  _ Incendio _ – the day didn’t look like it would warm up much, and he liked the farmhouse to be as cosy as possible on days like this. 

Next he headed for the kitchen and began breakfast, only realising once the smell of bacon hit his nose just how hungry he was. Memories of exactly why he needed more fuel sent a rush of warmth through him, despite the chill in the air, and his thoughts strayed back to the man asleep upstairs. Harry still thought of it as  _ his _ bed, even though Draco had claimed it for the week, and now it would always be associated with memories of last night. After they had showered together, going no further than a few deep kisses, enjoying the intimacy of touch, Draco had towelled Harry off, which had led to them falling back into bed, where Harry had finally got his wish. Draco had firmly taken control of proceedings though, and Harry could do little but watch in awe as the blond had put on a show, stretching himself out with his fingers until he was prepped and directing Harry to lie underneath him as he took his pleasure.

“Harry?”

Harry jumped at the sound of his name, then swore as he realised that he’d been lost in reverie and the bacon was now charred near to crisp and ruined. He was lucky not to have had spitting fat hit his hands and burn him.

“Shit!” Annoyed at himself, he dumped the burnt mess in the bin and threw the frying pan in the sink. It was only after this that he turned to the doorway to find Draco stood there looking less-than-put-together, in baggy silk pajamas and bare feet. Harry didn’t know what to say to him, let alone whether he was allowed to go and kiss him good morning. That said, he’d never seen Draco look more approachable and it was hard to resist just dragging him back upstairs and falling back into bed.

Instead he grinned a little sheepishly and asked, “How do you feel about scrambled eggs on toast for breakfast?”

“That sounds acceptable.” Even as Draco spoke in a calm, slightly superior, tone, Harry realised he could see the concealed amusement in his face. He wondered when he’d learned Draco’s face so well, and whether any of their other recent interactions had been clouded by the mask of disdain that Draco kept up.

“I’m afraid we don’t have much choice.” Harry looked back at the still smoking pan currently sat in the sink and, wincing a little, cast an  _ Aguamenti _ at it, just to be on the safe side. Unfortunately his aim was off and the water hit at just the right angle and speed so as to ricochet back at him and soak the front of his jumper.

“Fuck!” It felt like the woollen jumper had suddenly doubled in weight, and the front section started sagging alarmingly. Harry was contemplating just how many other things might go wrong make him look like a fool in front of Draco when his jumper was suddenly being pulled up, hands grasping either side. Obediently, Harry lifted his arms so that it could be pulled over his head, then turned as it was finally pulled away to find himself delightfully close to Draco, who threw the soggy garment over towards the laundry, then returned his arms around Harry’s waist.

“Hi.” Draco’s skin was almost perfectly blemish free, something Harry was sure was a source of pride for the former Slytherin, but this close, it was possible to see that there were a few light freckles on his nose.

“Hi, yourself.” After responding to Draco’s greeting, Harry leaned in and laid a series of soft kisses along Draco’s jaw. He could get used to this he realised. Morning kisses in the kitchen, breakfast together, and just like that, a dark cloud blew in over the contentment he was feeling. He couldn’t have this. Draco was leaving and for him, this thing with Harry was a holiday fling. Even if they had today, Draco would go back to his life tomorrow, leaving Harry behind, and Harry  _ knew _ he was already in danger of getting attached. It would be better to stop things now, rather than spend another day playing pretend, as if this wasn’t out of the ordinary. It would be so easy to just take that leap into affection and keep falling even further, Harry knew it. Something between them had clicked. But he and Draco weren’t friends. Harry knew this, and he had to protect himself. Their lives were at opposite ends of the country, even if they could be more. He had to put an end to things now. Face falling as he pulled back out of Draco’s embrace, Harry covered what his face might betray by going over and beginning breakfast again, his back to the other man.

“What’s wrong?” Draco’s tone was not a little hurt, and Harry couldn’t bear to look at him. If he was going to get through this he needed to rebuild some of the walls he’d let down in the past 24 hours.

“Nothing.” Harry forced a brightness into his tone. “Just hungry. Aren’t you hungry?”

“Yes, but not starving. I don’t need to eat right this very second.”

Draco pulled out a chair and dropped into it. Harry could feel his eyes burning into his back, trying to puzzle out what was happening. 

“I should do some work this morning, but I thought later we could go flying again? It’s my last day, so I don’t want to spend it all cooped up inside.” Draco’s tone was hopeful, clearly looking to spend time with Harry.

“Sure, maybe. I have a lot of things I need to do here, but if I’ve time.” Harry didn’t turn to look at Draco as he replied.

“Ok, well, let me know. You know where to find me. We don’t have to go out, if you need to stay here. Plenty of other ways to pass the time.”

Harry closed his eyes for a second. He could hear the smile in Draco’s words and hated that what he was going to do would most likely mean it would never be directed at him again. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” Risking a glance over his shoulder, before turning back and violently whisking eggs and milk together in a jug, Harry continued. “I just think that maybe we would be better off spending today apart.”

“Apart?”

“Yeah. I mean, last night was great, but you’re going home tomorrow, and I think maybe we should leave things as they stand. It’s not exactly professional of me to get involved with a guest.”

“I see. Involved with a guest. I didn’t take you for a coward, Potter.” The amusement was gone from Draco’s tone but he didn’t say anything further. Harry’s glanced back at him to see a face that had lost the brightness of a few minutes earlier, eyes shuttered, the same look was on Draco’s face as Harry remembered so clearly from school, disdainful. Harry wanted to defend himself from the accusation of cowardice but couldn’t find the words, it wasn’t entirely inaccurate, after all.

After setting the eggs to cook, Harry waved his wand at the teapot to fill and brew, and crockery and cutlery flew out to set the table, with a couple of plates waiting on the side. Not making the same mistake as he had with the bacon gave Harry a good reason to keep his back to the table, watching over the hob, and he filled the large toaster he’d bought from a muggle shop then had converted to magic in Hogsmeade.

“Mushrooms? Do you want some mushrooms? They go great with eggs. I’ll do some mushrooms.” Harry could feel himself becoming agitated as he began to imagine scenarios for the way this could play out and covered by busying himself with more cooking, trying to fill what, to him, felt like an awkward silence. Draco wasn’t saying anything, and every time Harry turned to reach for something, or put something away, he could see him out the corner of his eye simply sat at the table, place setting in front of him, watching. And eventually, Harry would have to turn and face him, and sit down opposite him, it was inevitable. A fact which Draco knew. All he had to do was to be patient. It was so  _ Slytherin _ of him, Harry thought to himself. Then a voice in his head sternly told him that he wasn’t exactly winning any Gryffindor prizes for bravery right now.

Just then, the toast popped up and Harry couldn’t delay any longer. He put out a couple of slices each, buttered them and loaded scrambled eggs and mushrooms on top. Turning, Harry put Draco’s plate down carefully in front of him first, before sitting down and digging in to his own food, glad to at least have something to occupy him. Opposite him, Draco was quietly picking at his meal his meal, though nowhere near as enthusiastically. Harry suddenly remembered that Draco had specifically told him he didn’t like mushrooms, but in his worry, he’d completely forgotten and served him a plate full of them. Draco was slowly picking them out of the egg, piling them up on the side, and Harry watched, as the sound of cutlery on china filled the air, until he cracked.

“How is it?” he asked, wincing.

“Good.”

“Look, Draco…” Harry didn’t get any further with his thought before Draco cut in.

“On second thought, I might head back to London today instead of tomorrow.” Draco didn’t look up, continuing to slice up his toast and move food around his plate. “I know I was booked in until tomorrow, but I’ve done enough work on my book that I don’t really need to stay. What I need to do, I can do well enough there.”

Harry had fallen still. “If that’s what you want.”

“It is.” Draco’s reply came quickly. Then he suddenly pushed back from the table, chair scraping loudly on the stone floor. “Don’t be concerned, I’ll pay for my full booking. Consider it time off, or a tip. For  _ services _ rendered.” Harry blanched at this, Draco was really rubbing salt in the wound.

“I’d best be going to pack, then you can drive me to Hogsmeade. I’ll be ready in an hour.” Dropping his napkin down beside his plate, Draco walked out the kitchen, head held high, shoulders back, the very image of a noble scion of a pure-blood family, even in pyjamas. The relaxed, welcoming figure that had embraced Harry not even half an hour ago was gone. 

Harry felt like a complete bastard. In the space of one meal, he’d managed to change Draco’s demeanor from the engaging, intelligent man he’d gotten to spend time with in the past couple of days, back to the cold, superior figure that had arrived on Monday. It was all his fault, his own doubts had pushed Draco away, and Draco was obviously upset, even though he was trying to hide it. But what else could Harry have done? And it  _ was  _ done, he wasn’t going to go chasing after Draco and say he had changed his mind, so that was the end of thing, no matter how bad he felt in this moment. It would pass and he would go back to how he was before. A few days couldn’t make that much difference to his life, surely?

With a deep sigh, Harry looked down at his plate, no longer hungry. He banished both plates with a sigh and leaned back in his chair. Time was ticking, he supposed he had better go and shower and get ready to drive Draco back to Hogsmeade.

***

In his ( _ Harry’s! Ugh! _ ) room, Draco was pacing, infuriated. How  _ dare _ he? Nobody rejected Draco Malfoy like that, especially not over  _ breakfast the morning after _ . It was unconscionable. Draco was always the one in control of relationships, no matter how short they might have been. It wasn’t like he _ cared  _ about Potter, but it was a matter of pride. Nobody humiliated a Malfoy and got away with it. And now Draco had to cut short his holiday, and pay for the privilege.

Better to get out of there sooner rather than later though, Draco thought to himself. Part of him didn’t want to spend another second in Potter’s company after what had just occurred, but another part was whining at Draco that he might just be able to change  _ Harry _ ’s mind, that it was just a foolish reaction on his part. Really, there was nothing stood in their way, except Harry’s preconceptions. Yes, Draco lived at the other end of the country, but they could have enjoyed today rather than Draco having to storm off in a huff just to maintain his pride. 

Last night… well, as much as Draco hated to admit it, it had been one of the better nights of his life. It had been probably the hottest sex he’d ever had, but – at least on his part – there’d also been a connection on a deeper level that had previously always been missing with his partners. Like Harry understood a part of him that nobody else even noticed. 

And, AND! It wasn’t even like the distance was a huge hurdle. They were wizards for Merlin’s sake. Yes, Scotland and London were miles apart, but all Harry would have to do would be connect his fireplace to the Floo network and they’d be moments away from each other. It could even be a private connection, just for them. Draco knew full well such things were possible, his parents had one set up with Malfoy Manor from their current home in Bordeaux. They wanted to be able to come and go between the two, but didn’t want all and sundry to be able to have access to them.

Draco violently waved his wand around the room, sending his typewriter, parchment, toiletries and clothing flying into his trunk, which closed with a bang.  Then he cursed as he realised he was still wearing what he wore to sleep in and would have to open it again. He decided to take a shower first, and see if he could use up all of Harry’s hot water before Harry showered (never let it be said that a Malfoy did not know how to be petty). Stripping off his pyjamas and leaving them in his wake as he went into the bathroom, Draco headed for the shower but stopped still in front of the mirror at the sight of the bruises starkly visible against his pale skin. Two were on his collarbones, and there were faint marks around his waist where Harry’s fingers had gripped hard.

His cock twitched at the memories and Draco sent a disapproving look down, not willing to give Harry the acknowledgement, even if he would never know. ‘Mind over matter, Malfoy,’ Draco told himself in the mirror, smirking a little at the alliteration. Maybe he would adopt that as the epigraph for his new book, a little personal joke aimed at Harry, but out there for the world to see.

The hot water was blissful as it poured over his head. Draco had to admit that Harry had a nice set-up here. He would miss access to an  _ en suite _ once he got home. The old wizarding house he’d bought prevented meddling with the layout, so while the bathroom was very close to the master, it wasn’t connected. The prospect of a few days with this small luxury may have played a role in his determination to usurp this room upon his arrival. And he didn’t regret it.

It occurred to Draco after about ten minutes that Harry may well have charmed the system so the water never cooled, so all he was doing was turning his fingers to prunes (never a good look). This just added to his ire with his host, which had dimmed a little with the passage of time, but only to a low, intense anger, rather than the immediate heat of humiliation.

Wrapping a towel around his waist, he once again opened his trunk and retrieved an outfit of black trousers and a grey fitted shirt, the fabric of which was almost reflective, then waved his wand casually to send his pyjamas back and close everything up once again. He dressed quickly, drying his hair and ensuring it was perfectly styled, then shrugged on his jacket and put on his shoes. A last check in the mirror before he headed downstairs confirmed that no outward signs were showing that might hint towards his hurt. There was still a little time left in the hour he had given Harry before he wanted to leave, so he wandered into the living room. He had left his trunk upstairs and would leave it to Harry to deal with and get into the car.

Walking over to the bookshelves, mostly untouched from his reorganisation, he found one addition. Harry’s copy of  _ Caught in a Spider’s Web  _ had been slotted into one of the non-fiction shelves, in completely the wrong place of course. Pulling it out, Draco turned it over and then flicked through the pages. Pausing for a short while, he listened for any sign of movement upstairs that would suggest Harry was on his way, but heard nothing. On the spur of the moment, Draco opened the well-read copy to the title page and pulled out his wand, whispering the spell that would cast his signature onto the page, but adding a message for Harry as well. Merlin, he was getting maudlin about the entire affair. The sooner he was got out of here, the better.

He put the book back from where he’d taken it, and not a moment too soon, as he heard Harry’s footsteps coming down the stairs. Bracing himself, he turned, straightened his spine and walked out the door to the hallway.

“Potter, you’ll need to retrieve my trunk. It’s waiting for you upstairs.”

***

Harry sighed as he sorted through a new collection of brooms that he’d purchased through a wizard auction earlier that week and that had just been delivered. There were a few duds, but he thought most of them were salvageable and he knew the pupils at Hogwarts would appreciate them. One or two might even do for the older Quidditch players, being surprisingly decent models. He hugely enjoyed the feeling of helping the kids of his old school, but recently even this had lost its sheen.

It had been a two months since Draco’s visit, and Harry had had five other bookings come and go at Dragon Farm. He wasn’t rushed off his feet, but busy enough to keep him occupied, with breaks in between for some peace and quiet. And yet, he still thought about those few days when everything seemed more alive. Now, every time he went flying, he wanted to look over his shoulder and see a blond figure chasing him; he would come home from the village and listen out for whatever Draco was up to; eating alone in the kitchen, while his guests were in the Breakfast Room felt lonelier than ever.

He regularly berated himself for being hung up on such a fleeting experience as it had been, but it was as if some fundamental part of him had clicked into place and now it didn’t want to return to the previous status quo.

A knock on the barn door startled Harry out of his reverie and he called out, “Come in,” wiping his hands down on the rag he kept close to get rid of some of the dust. A small figure appeared through the gap and Harry smiled at Jenny Thistlebloom, the ten-year-old daughter of his current guests.

“Mr Potter, Dad said you might have some brooms around and that he’d let me have a go out in the field, as long as I didn’t go too high. Do you really?”

“Oh, well, why don’t you come in and have a look for yourself.”

Jenny pushed on the door, which swung open easily and came fully into the barn. Harry gestured that she should follow him and smiled at her gasp when she saw the number of brooms leaning around the stable walls. Harry pointed towards the pile that he’d deemed suitable for Hogwarts.

“Why don’t you pick one out and I’ll show you the basics myself.”

It was a fun couple of hours, until Jenny was too exhausted to carry on any more. Harry enjoyed spending time with children, though it didn’t happen much except when he visited Ron and Hermione, or went to The Burrow for Christmas, and Jenny was a sweet girl. He was glad to have something to concentrate on for a bit. After the first couple of weeks after Draco left, Harry hadn’t even admitted to himself that he was pining and it was only when Ron flooed up to Hogsmeade for lunch and a pint, a new tradition since Harry moved to Scotland, and point blank asked Harry why he was so down in the dumps, that Harry had told him the whole story.

Safe to say, while Ron was sympathetic to Harry’s mood, he didn’t exactly understand the fuss about  _ Draco Malfoy! Harry! Really? Please don’t tell me any details, promise me _ .  A request to which Harry was happy to concede, swearing on their friendship never to reveal any specific details about what he and Draco may or may not have got up to. But despite his aversion to the man he still occasionally referred to as ‘Ferret face’, Ron had told Harry a few home truths. Namely that he had behaved ridiculously, since there was no real impediment to the two of them being together, if that was what Harry wanted.

The trouble was, Harry was fairly certain he had burned that bridge. Draco had received the message loud and clear that Harry was ending their liaison, before it had even really begun.

After watching Jenny run upstairs to tell her parents all about her new flying skills – taught by Harry Potter himself! – Harry wandered into the living room to check that everything was tidy. A few books were lying around, so he picked them all up and carried them over to the shelves, then absentmindedly started putting them back where there were gaps. He imagined that Draco would be horrified. His careful afternoon’s work had been thoroughly destroyed in the weeks since he had sorted them. Things were now haphazardly mixed up, so that it was getting more and more difficult to find any particular book, unless you knew exactly where it was.

He trailed his hand lightly over the spines, until he reached the book he hadn’t picked up in weeks, despite having been halfway through rereading it. Impulsively Harry pulled  _ Caught in a Spider’s Web  _ off the shelf, turning it over to look at the author photo on the back. Draco looked out at him in black and white, hair falling across his forehead, dressed in a high-necked black jumper, shifting around a little, obviously under direction from the photographer, before the image looped back around to the beginning. His gaze never wavered from the lens, giving the impression he was staring right at Harry. 

Rather than put the book back, Harry carried it with him to the kitchen as he went to make a cup of tea and begin prep for his dinner. The Thistleblooms had already told him they planned to walk down to the village that evening, so he would be just cooking for himself.

Setting the veg to chop with one of the most useful spells Molly Weasley had ever taught him, Harry made his tea and sat at the kitchen table and opened the book. At first he just turned the first pages without looking, until he reached the Contents listing, looking for the chapter he had read last. But then Harry noticed marks on the white of the previous page. They didn’t move when he rubbed at them, and so he flicked back to see if something had been squashed between the two pages before, as unpleasant as that thought was. Instead he was confronted with an elegant script and a short message.

_ To Harry, _

_ In memory of what we had, and in mourning for what might have been, _

_ Draco _

Harry slammed the book shut and put it down on the table, as if if he didn’t look, the message would disappear. A lump appeared in his throat, before Harry swallowed it down, closing his eyes. Enough. He didn’t want to be miserable any more. The Thistleblooms were leaving tomorrow. He was driving them to Hogsmeade in the morning and he knew what he needed to do.

***

“It’s great.”

Blaise turned over the last sheet of paper and looked back at where Draco was sat on the sofa. He’d invited Blaise over to read the manuscript of the first draft for his new book the afternoon before, and his friend had been reading since then, excluding breaks for sleeping and food. It was now evening again and Draco was hungry

“It needs editing, it’s too long.”

“Well, of course. And you’ll need to rework some of the middle chapters, but the core argument is strong.”

Draco downed the rest of the firewhiskey he’d been nursing while watching Blaise as he approached the end. The book had poured out of him in the past weeks, from the kernel of an idea that had been clarified in the wilds of Scotland. It incensed him that the origin of this work that he was so proud of would be forever tied up with that place and  _ him _ . Draco didn’t even want to think his name any more. It wasn’t the same sort of resentment that he’d burned with through school, but it was just as strong. Time hadn’t lessened his anger.

“... send it to your editor.” 

With a start, Draco realised that Blaise had been talking and he’d missed the entire gist of the conversation. Nodding, as if he’d been listening, he stood and smiled at his friend. 

“I’ll send it tomorrow. Tonight, I think I’m just going to collapse and sleep for a day. Thanks for being my first reader and reassuring me I’m not mad.”

“Not at all. I think it’s going to be a huge success.” Blaise shrugged on his jacket, which he’d hung on the back of the desk chair, and was heading for the fireplace when the doorbell rang. “Go get that, I can see myself from here.”

Draco waved a quick goodbye and headed for the front door, wondering who it could be at this time of night. Everyone he was in regular contact with had access to his floo, and it was highly unusual for someone to come to the front of the house, so much so that the door had stiffened and Draco had to yank rather inelegantly to get it open, staggering backwards as it finally swung open. When he saw who was on the other side he regretted the effort and immediately went to grab the door handle to swing it back closed again.

“Please don’t.”

Harry spoke quietly, but seemed determined. Draco didn’t close the door fully, but stepped partly behind it, as if it were a shield. He didn’t want to give the impression Harry was invited inside. He did indulge for a moment in skimming over the other man’s appearance, drinking it in after having been haunted by him for the past two months. Harry’s hair was as messy as ever, and there were dark circles under his eyes. Draco was fairly sure he didn’t look any better, and had he known it was Harry at the door he’d probably have pinched his cheeks a little to get some colour into them, and swapped his house-shoes for a decent pair. 

“What are you doing here?”

Harry didn’t immediately respond, instead he started patting his pockets, eventually locating the thing he was looking for in an inside pocket of his coat. Rather than answer Draco’s question he held it out. ‘It’ turned out to be a small scroll, held closed by a Ministry wax seal. Draco just looked at it, before looking back at Harry.

“What is it?”

“Take a look.”

Scowling a little, Draco snatched the scroll and broke the seal. Unrolled, he found that it was a Floo Certification, confirming the addition of Dragon Farm to the official network. 

“Congratulations on joining the modern world.” Draco rolled the scroll back up and made as if to hand it back to Harry.

“It’s not signed yet.” Harry didn’t take the scroll back. “Look again.”

“Why not?” Reopening the scroll, Draco skimmed down to the bottom where he saw that what Harry said was indeed true. At the bottom of the scroll was a space for the homeowner’s signature, currently empty.

“Because I couldn’t sign it without agreement from the person whose home I want to connect to.”

Draco froze. Was he hearing right? He wondered if maybe he’d misunderstood Harry’s implication, but as he read through the scroll more carefully he noticed one clause in particular:

_ Clause IIV: That the Floo to be connected to the network shall only be connected to one (1) other residence, belonging to MR. DRACO MALFOY, [address to be confirmed] and shall not be available for general Floo Network use unless requested by the PROPRIETOR. _

A barrage of questions flew through Draco’s mind, and his eyes flew up to look at Harry, but all he was able to come out with was a rather stuttered, “W...what?”

Harry grinned rather nervously and ran a hand through his hair, looking up to the sky, before he said anything. It was rather adorable.  Draco already felt lighter than he had in weeks, but didn’t want to truly get his hopes up until he’d heard the words.

“Well. I thought, maybe, that we could… that is… I know I was… Look,” Harry paused and seemed to come to a decision. He reached out with both hands and took hold of Draco’s hand that was still holding the scroll.

“I’m sorry, ok. I was wrong. I was scared and nervous and a bit overwhelmed with how I felt and I screwed up and I’ve been miserable without you and I know that your life is here and my life is there, but we’re wizards, right? And what’s the point of magic if you don’t take advantage, and I don’t want to be scared any more and I think we could have something amazing, so would you like to go out with me?”

Harry had barely finished speaking when he lifted Draco’s hand, taking the scroll with one hand, and using the other to bring Draco’s fingers to his lips, kissing them gently and looking up at Draco as he did. Afterwards, he let Draco go and stood, waiting.

After what seemed like an age, but was in reality only about 30 seconds, he spoke again.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?”

Draco reached out and took the scroll back, looking again at the clause that changed everything. 

“I’m just wondering how much I can get out of you for what you put me through and how long I can hold it over your head.”

Harry’s look became a little more hopeful, with the hint of a smile appearing on his face. Burying his hands in his coat pockets and rocking back on his heels, he replied, “I’m sure it’s good for a  _ few _ favours at the very least”.

Caving, just a  _ little _ , Draco opened the door somewhat and stepped back to allow Harry into the house, “Don’t just stand there, you’re letting all the heat out.”

Harry hurriedly came past Draco and stood in the hallway, looking around.

“Nice place.”

“Yes, yes, it’s a lovely pile of bricks. Follow me.”

Draco led Harry into the front parlour, where a warm fire was burning. It was cosier than his study, where he had been with Blaise, with soft furnishings and a rich carpet. He nodded at the sofa facing the fire, before sitting down in his favourite armchair.

In a tone that was more assured than he was feeling, he said “Ok, here’s how it will be.”

Harry sat up at Draco’s words, obviously unprepared for any sort of negotiation. He was such a  _ Gryffindor, _ Draco thought. Just showing up with a grand gesture, thinking that everything would turn out ok. Draco already knew, deep down, that he was forgiven, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to lay down some rules.

“I expect dinner – at a restaurant, Potter, not take away – at least once a week. I know you can afford it. You will spend weekends with me, unless you have guests staying. We can work out arrangements of where we stay as necessary. I expect you won’t always want to be in London, and I’m happy to come to you when we can be alone in Scotland. Obviously there will be press interest in our arrangement. It may be best eventually to release a statement but I think for now we can limit the number of people we tell. I assume you will want to notify Granger and Weasley, and I will be telling Blaise, Pansy, and my agent and editor, who will need to know where to contact me.”

Although Harry had seemed surprised at first with Draco giving a list of demands, he soon began nodding, perhaps realising that this was simply the former Slytherin’s version of showing up at the front door. There was no spoken acknowledgement from Draco that he agreed to Harry’s request, simply an assumption of a change of status; from friends to partners, boyfriends, lovers. The label didn’t really matter. 

Draco was still talking, outlining his expectations when Harry got up and walked over to him, kneeling down next to his chair, and began to feather kisses on Draco’s jawline and neck. “I know you’re attached to that…” Draco shuffled forwards a bit so he could reach Harry better and put his arms around him, “disaster of a car but…  _ oh, right there… _ I do think you could maybe upgrade it to a more…  _ mmm, keep going _ … comfortable model…  _ oh, sod it. _ ” 

Unable to resist any more, Draco turned his head and pulled Harry in for a kiss, smiling as he did so and making a mental note to send Blaise a thank you gift for suggesting he visit Dragon Farm.


End file.
